Burning in Water, Drowing in Flame by Charles Bukowski Read Free Book Online
Authors: Charles Bukowski
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ask the counterfeiter
ask the man sleeping in an alley under
a sheet of paper
ask the conquerors of nations and planets
ask the man who has just cut off his finger
ask a bookmark in the bible
ask the water dripping from a faucet while
the phone rings
ask perjury
ask the deep blue paint
ask the parachute jumper
ask the man with the bellyache
ask the divine eye so sleek and swimming
ask the boy wearing tight pants in
the expensive academy
ask the man who slipped in the bathtub
ask the man chewed by the shark
ask the one who sold me the unmatched
gloves
ask these and all those I have left out
ask the fire the fire the fire—
ask even the liars
ask anybody you please at anytime
you please on any day you please
whether it’s raining or whether
the snow is there or whether
you are stepping out onto a porch
yellow with warm heat
ask this ask that
ask the man with birdshit in his hair
ask the torturer of animals
ask the man who has seen many bullfights
in Spain
ask the owners of new Cadillacs
ask the famous
ask the timid
ask the albino
and the statesman
ask the landlords and the poolplayers
ask the phonies
ask the hired killers
ask the bald men and the fat men
and the tall men and the
short men
ask the one-eyed men, the
oversexed and undersexed men
ask the men who read all the newspaper
editorials
ask the men who breed roses
ask the men who feel almost no pain
ask the dying
ask the mowers of lawns and the attenders
of football games
ask any of these or all of these
ask ask ask and
they’ll all tell you:
a snarling wife on the balustrade is more
than a man can bear.
a nice day
the virus holds
the concepts give way like rotten
shoelaces
toothache and bacon dance on the
lawn
I open a drawer to dirty
stockings
a stockbroker’s universe
steel balls flutter like
butterflies
I can feel doom like
something under the sheets with bristles
that stinks and moves
toward me
the mailman is insane and
hands me a bagful of snails
eaten inside
out
by some rat of decay
in the madhouse a man kisses the walls
and dreams of sailboating down some
cool Nile
I read about the bullfights the ballgames
the boxing matches
things continue to fight
and in the churches they play at parlor
games and peek at legs
I go outside to absolutely
nothing
a square round of orange zero
headpieces over obscene mouths that form
at me like suckerfish
good morning, nice day isn’t it?
a fat woman says
I am unable to answer
and down the sidewalk I go
shamed
unable to tell her
of the knife inside me
I do notice though the sun is shining
that the flowers are pulled up on
their strings
and I on mine:
belly, bellybutton, buttocks, bukowski
waving walking
teeth of ice with the taste of tar
tear ducts propagandized
shoes acting like shoes
I arrive on time
in the blazing midday of
mourning.
it was a splendid day in Spring
and outside we could hear the birds
that hadn’t been killed
by the smog
beerbottle
a very miraculous thing just happened:
my beerbottle flipped over backwards
and landed on its bottom on the floor,
and I have set it upon the table to foam down,
but the photos were not so lucky today
and there is a small slit along the leather
of my left shoe, but it’s all very simple:
we cannot acquire too much: there are laws
we know nothing of, all manner of nudges
set us to burning or freezing; what sets
the blackbird in the cat’s mouth
is not for us to say, or why some men
are jailed like pet squirrels
while others nuzzle in enormous breasts
through endless nights—this is the
task and the terror, and we are not
taught why. still, it’s lucky the bottle
landed straightside up, and although
I have one of wine and one of whiskey,
this foretells, somehow, a good night,
and perhaps tomorrow my nose will be longer:
new shoes, less rain, more poems.
the body
I have been
hanging
ask the counterfeiter
ask the man sleeping in an alley under
a sheet of paper
ask the conquerors of nations and planets
ask the man who has just cut off his finger
ask a bookmark in the bible
ask the water dripping from a faucet while
the phone rings
ask perjury
ask the deep blue paint
ask the parachute jumper
ask the man with the bellyache
ask the divine eye so sleek and swimming
ask the boy wearing tight pants in
the expensive academy
ask the man who slipped in the bathtub
ask the man chewed by the shark
ask the one who sold me the unmatched
gloves
ask these and all those I have left out
ask the fire the fire the fire—
ask even the liars
ask anybody you please at anytime
you please on any day you please
whether it’s raining or whether
the snow is there or whether
you are stepping out onto a porch
yellow with warm heat
ask this ask that
ask the man with birdshit in his hair
ask the torturer of animals
ask the man who has seen many bullfights
in Spain
ask the owners of new Cadillacs
ask the famous
ask the timid
ask the albino
and the statesman
ask the landlords and the poolplayers
ask the phonies
ask the hired killers
ask the bald men and the fat men
and the tall men and the
short men
ask the one-eyed men, the
oversexed and undersexed men
ask the men who read all the newspaper
editorials
ask the men who breed roses
ask the men who feel almost no pain
ask the dying
ask the mowers of lawns and the attenders
of football games
ask any of these or all of these
ask ask ask and
they’ll all tell you:
a snarling wife on the balustrade is more
than a man can bear.
a nice day
the virus holds
the concepts give way like rotten
shoelaces
toothache and bacon dance on the
lawn
I open a drawer to dirty
stockings
a stockbroker’s universe
steel balls flutter like
butterflies
I can feel doom like
something under the sheets with bristles
that stinks and moves
toward me
the mailman is insane and
hands me a bagful of snails
eaten inside
out
by some rat of decay
in the madhouse a man kisses the walls
and dreams of sailboating down some
cool Nile
I read about the bullfights the ballgames
the boxing matches
things continue to fight
and in the churches they play at parlor
games and peek at legs
I go outside to absolutely
nothing
a square round of orange zero
headpieces over obscene mouths that form
at me like suckerfish
good morning, nice day isn’t it?
a fat woman says
I am unable to answer
and down the sidewalk I go
shamed
unable to tell her
of the knife inside me
I do notice though the sun is shining
that the flowers are pulled up on
their strings
and I on mine:
belly, bellybutton, buttocks, bukowski
waving walking
teeth of ice with the taste of tar
tear ducts propagandized
shoes acting like shoes
I arrive on time
in the blazing midday of
mourning.
it was a splendid day in Spring
and outside we could hear the birds
that hadn’t been killed
by the smog
beerbottle
a very miraculous thing just happened:
my beerbottle flipped over backwards
and landed on its bottom on the floor,
and I have set it upon the table to foam down,
but the photos were not so lucky today
and there is a small slit along the leather
of my left shoe, but it’s all very simple:
we cannot acquire too much: there are laws
we know nothing of, all manner of nudges
set us to burning or freezing; what sets
the blackbird in the cat’s mouth
is not for us to say, or why some men
are jailed like pet squirrels
while others nuzzle in enormous breasts
through endless nights—this is the
task and the terror, and we are not
taught why. still, it’s lucky the bottle
landed straightside up, and although
I have one of wine and one of whiskey,
this foretells, somehow, a good night,
and perhaps tomorrow my nose will be longer:
new shoes, less rain, more poems.
the body
I have been
hanging