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Charles Bukowski - "Consummation of Grief"

Charles Bukowski
Zeichnung von Commonurbock23
Lizenz: GFDL via Wikimedia Commons

I even hear the mountains
the way they laugh
up and down their blue sides
and down in the water
the fish cry
and the water
is their tears.

I listen to the water
on nights I drink away
and the sadness becomes so great

I hear it in my clock
it becomes knobs upon my dresser
it becomes paper on the floor
it becomes a shoehorn
a laundry ticket
it becomes
cigarette smoke
climbing a chapel of dark vines...
it matters little
very little love is not so bad
or very little life
what counts
is waiting on walls

I was born for this

I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead.

Charles Bukowski 16. August 1920 in Andernach als Heinrich Karl Bukowski; † 9. März 1994 in San Pedro (Los Angeles)

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