Charles Bukowski


he drank wine all night of the 28th, and he kept thinking of her: the way she walked and talked and loved the way she told him things that seemed true but were not, and he knew the color of each of her dresses and her shoes-he knew the stock and curve of each heel as well as the leg shaped by it. and she was out again and when he came home,and she'd come back with that special stink again, and she did she came in at 3 a.m in the morning filthy like a dung eating swine and he took out a butchers knife and she screamed backing into the rooming house wall still pretty somehow in spite of love's reek and he finished the glass of wine. that yellow dress his favorite and she screamed again. and he took up the knife and unhooked his belt and tore away the cloth before her and cut off his balls. and carried them in his hands like apricots and flushed them down the toilet bowl and she kept screaming as the room became red GOD O GOD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? and he sat there holding 3 towels between his legs no caring now whether she left or stayed wore yellow or green or anything at all. and one hand holding and one hand lifting he poured another wine

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