Some People

some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch
for 3 or 4 days.
they'll find me there.
it's Cherub, they'll say, and
they pour wine down my throat
rub my chest
sprinkle me with oils.

by Charles Bukowski

Comments (7)

This poem is like my life terrible miserable, worthless. End it Now
thank you 'lina v' (comment box below) for posting the other part of the poem..
ahaha alex gets it sort of
Ahaha@Alex. There's nothing better than poetic snobbery. For god's sake, get over yourself.
I'm pretty sure Bukowski wrote a poem in which he lambasted people for printing versions of poems that HE wrote the way THEY would have liked to have written them. Yuri, you ought never to be allowed to read poetry again. And whomever submitted this, you are the Bane of artists everywhere including myself. When you have a child, I shall come round and chop off a couple of fingers and perhaps a toe, then put out an eye and brand its chest with my initials. Then you'll understand.
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