John F. Kennedy flower knocks upon my door and is
shot through the neck;
the gladiolas gather by the dozens around the tip of
India
dripping into Ceylon;
dozens of oysters read Germaine Greer.
meanwhile, I itch from the slush of the Philippines
to the eye of the minnow
the minnow being eaten by the cumulative dreams of
Simón Bolívar. O,
freedom from the limitation of angular distance would be
delicious.
war is perfect,
the solid way drips and leaks,
Schopenhauer laughed for 72 years,
and I was told by a very small man in a New York City
pawnshop
one afternoon:
Christ got more attention than I did
but I went further on less...”
well, the distance between 5 points is the same as the
distance between 3 points is the same as the distance
between one point:
is all as cordial as a bonbon:
all this that we are wrapped
in:
eunuchs are more exact than sleep
the postage stamp is mad, Indiana is ridiculous
the chameleon is the last walking flower.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
