Charles Bukowski


Naked along the side of the house, 8 a.m., spreading sesame seed oil over my body, Jesus, have I come to this? I once battled in dark alleys for a laugh. Now I'm not laughing. I splash myself with oil and wonder, how many years do you want? How many days? My blood is soiled and a dark angel sits in my brain. Things are made of something and go to nothing. I understand the fall of cities, of nations. A small plane passes overhead. I look upward as if it made sense to look upward. It's true, the sky has rotted: It won't be long for any of us.

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