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 (6)

I know someone couldna a cared less for his anger.
He knew how to write and bare his heart. The rhythm is so there, pulsing in every line.... like a heartbeat
Beautifully written poem......
An astounding poem to show the hovering and grief of losing his love.Love is nature here and its lack is explained in a striking manner.
I see the flowers! ! And the ways opf nature. Thanks for sharing.
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