Charles Bukowski

defeat

listening to Bruckner on the radio
wondering why I’m not half mad
over the latest breakup with my
latest girlfriend
 
wondering why I’m not driving the streets
drunk
wondering why I’m not in the bedroom
in the dark
in the grievous dark
pondering
ripped by half-thoughts.
 
I suppose
that at last
like the average man:
I’ve known too many women
and instead of thinking,
I wonder who’s fucking her now?
I think
she’s giving some other poor son of a bitch
much trouble right now.
 
listening to Bruckner on the radio
seems so peaceful.
 
too many women have gone through.
I am at last alone
without being alone.
 
I pick up a Grumbacher paint brush
and clean my fingernails with the hard sharp end.
 
I notice a wall socket.
 
look, I’ve won.
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