Burning in Water, Drowing in Flame by Charles Bukowski Read Free Book Online Page A

here
    headless
    for so long
    that the body has forgotten
    why
    or where or when it
    happened
     
     
    and the toes
    walk along in shoes
    that do not
    care
     
     
    and although
    the fingers
    slice things and
    hold things and
    move things and
    touch
    things
    such as
    oranges
    apples
    onions
    books
    bodies
    I am no longer
    reasonably sure
    what these things
    are
     
     
    they are mostly
    like
    lamplight and
    fog
    then often the hands will
    go to the
    lost head
    and hold the head
    like the hands of a
    child
    around a ball
    a block
    air and wood—
    no teeth
    no thinking part
     
     
    and when a window
    blows open
    to a
    church
    hill
    woman
    dog
    or something singing
     
     
    the fingers of the hand
    are senseless to vibration
    because they have no
    ears
    senseless to color because
    they have no
    eyes
    senseless to smell
    without a nose
     
     
    the country goes by as
    nonsense
    the continents
     
     
    the daylights and evenings
    shine
    on my dirty
    fingernails
     
     
    and in some mirror
    my face
    a block to vanish
    scuffed part of a child’s
    ball
     
     
    while everywhere
    moves
    worms and aircraft
    fires on the land
    tall violets in sanctity
    my hands let go let go
    let go
     

k.o.
     
     
    he was easy, fat as a hummingbird
    and I had him blowing,
    I jabbed and crossed and took my time:
    everybody was waiting for the main event,
    drinking beer, and I was thinking
    how we were going to furnish the house,
    I needed a workbench and some tools,
    and then he came over with the right—
    I had been looking at the lights
    and the next thing I knew everybody was
    howling, and I was down on my knees like
    praying, and when I got up
    he was strong and I was weak;
    well, I thought, I’ll go back to the farm,
    I always was a poor winner.
     

sunday before noon
     
     
    spinach, Gabriel,
all fall down,
all fall down and blow,
barbados, barbados,
where are yr toes?
     
     
    the branches break, the birds fall, the buildings burn,
    the whores stand straight,
    the bombs stack,
    evening, morning, night,
    peanutbutter,
    peanutbutter falcons,
    rain breathing like lilies from the top of my head,
    pincers pincers
    kisses like steel clamps
    mouths full of moths,
    hydra-headed cocksuckers,
    Florida in full moon,
    shark with mouthful of man
    man with mouthful of peanutbutter, rain
    rain peeking into the guts of grey hours,
    horses dreaming of horses,
    flowers dreaming of flowers,
    horses running with greyhour pieces of my lovely flesh,
    bread burning, all Spain on fire and
    cities dreaming of craters,
    bombs bigger than the brains of anything,
    going down
    are the clocks cocks roosters?
    the roosters stand on the fence
    the roosters are peanutbutter crowing,
    the FLAME will be high, the flame will be big,
    kiss kiss kiss
    everything away,
    I hope it rains today, I hope
    the jets die, I hope
    the kitten finds a mouse, I hope
    I don’t see it, I hope
    it rains, I hope
     
     
    anything away from here,
    I hope a bridge, a fish, a cactus somewhere
    strutting whiskers to the noon,
    I dream flowers and horses
    the branches break the birds fall the buildings
    burn, my whore walks across the room and
    smiles at me.
     

7th race when the angels swung low and burned
     
     
    I watched the board and the 6 dropped to 9
    after a first flash of 18 from a morning line
    of 12…two minutes to post and a fat man
    kept jamming against my back, but I made it,
    I bet 20 to win and walked out to the deck
    looking down at my program:
    purple and cerise quarters, cerise sleeves
    and cap; b.f.3., Indian Red—Impetuous, by Top Row,
    and people kept walking into me
    although there was no place to go,
    they were putting them in the gate
    and the people were walking like ants over spilled
    sugar,
    the machine had cranked them up to die
    and they were blind with it,
    and now by the 7th race
    stinking sweating broke ugly
    reamed
    there was no way back to the dream,
    and the horses came out of the gate
    and I looked for my colors—
    I saw them, and the boy seemed to be