8 Count

from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
one flies
off.
then
another.
one is left,
then
it too
is gone.
my typewriter is
tombstone
still.
and I am
reduced to bird
watching.
just thought I'd
let you
know,
fucker.

by Charles Bukowski

Comments (8)

This poem is weird. I like it.
Looks like writer's block. While he spent the full 8 couint on the canvas many times, the body of his work gives the rest of us inspiration to keep punching.
I love his honesty and bluntness. As sad as the message may be at times, his writing often seems to include an element of humor.
Ha, you have to appreciate his blunt honesty, if nothing else. I like this one.
it's so true it's physically painful.
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