quarta-feira, 29 de setembro de 2010

Poem for my 43rd birthday - Charles Bukowski

To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine-
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
and glad to have
the room.

...in the morning
they are out there
making money:
judges, carpenters,
plumbers, doctors,
newsboys, policemen,
barbers, carwashers,
dentists, florists,
waitresses, cooks,

and you turn over
to your left side
to get the sun
on your back
and out
of your eyes.

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