Charles Bukowski

Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame

Some dogs who sleep at night must dream of bones and I remember your bones in flesh and best in that dark green dress and those high-heeled bright black shoes, you always cursed when you drank, your hair coming down you wanted to explode out of what was holding you: rotten memories of a rotten past, and you finally got out by dying, leaving me with the rotten present; You've been dead 28 years yet I remember you better than any of the rest; You were the only one who understood the futility of the arrangement of life; All the others were only displeased with trivial segments, carped nonsensically about nonsense; Jane, you were killed by knowing too much. Here's a drink to your bones that this dog still dreams about.

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