Charles Bukowski

12:18 a.m.

beheaded in the middle of the
night
scratching my sides
I am covered with bites
kick my white legs out of the sheets
as the sirens scream
there is a gun blast.
 
I go to the kitchen
for a glass of water
destroy the reverie of a roach
destroy the roach.
a gale comes from the North
as the man in the apartment across
from me
inserts his penis into the rump of his
4 year old
daughter.
 
I hear the screams
light a cigar
stick it into the lips of my
beheaded head.
it is half a cigar
stale
a Medalist Naturáles, No. 7.
 
I walk back to the bedroom
with a spray can.
I press the button.
it hisses. I
gag,
think of ancient wars
loves dead.
so much happens in the dark
yet tomorrow
the sun will move up and on,
you’ll get a ticket if you park on the
south side of the street on
Thursday
or the north side on
Friday.
 
the efficiency of the sun and the
law
bulwarks sanity.
 
something bites me.
I madden
spray half my
bedsheets.
 
I turn
see the dark mirror—
the cigar
the loose belly
me
old.
 
I laugh.
 
it’s good they don’t
know.
 
I take my head
 
put it back on my
neck
 
get between the sheets and can’t sleep.
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