guru
big black beard
tells me
that I don’t feel
terror
I look at him
my gut rattles
gravel
I see his eyes
look upward
he’s strong
has dirty fingernails
and upon the walls:
scabbards.
he knows things:
books
the odds
the best road
home
I like him
but I think he
lies
(I’m not sure
he lies)
his wife sits
in a dark
corner
when I first met
her she was the
most beautiful
woman
I had ever
seen
now she has
become
his twin
perhaps not his
fault:
perhaps the thing
does us all
like that
yet after I leave
their house
I feel terror
the moon looks
diseased
my hands slip
on the
steering wheel
I get my car
out
and down the
hill
almost crash it
into a
blue-green
parked car
clod me forever,
Beatrice
wavering poet, ha
haha
dinky dog of
terror.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
