he said he prefers the vampires to werewolves and some words came down on my mind
whilst i was playing the glassful in my hands
and the polish was still fresh and bloody juicy on my nails..
it was Charles Bukowski
and his poem Alone With Everybody
the flesh covers the bone
and they a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than flesh.
there's not chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
nobody ever finds
the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else
fills.
self-taken photo*
