Hairy Charles Bukowski

The Hairy Hairy Fist and Love Will Die

The dull haunches will sit in chairs and fart
See the paper flowers
old women and lint
Horse with broken leg
Spider, taking it in
Wrinkles under bedpan chins
Acromegalic diverticulitis [?]
Your soul… filled with mud and bats and curses

And the hammers will go in, there will be the hairy hairy fists, and love will die
Love will stroke the balls of your worst enemy
And your neck will ache and toilet paper will stick in your crotch
And out the window, the same, pictures of torture and murder and horror…
Cats with birds,
Cats with mice,
Dogs with cats,
Live men like ivory needing a shave
And, the petulant and nasty children of the universe
Stealing, climbing, planning, cutting, warring
Always so healthy, always so strong
Ah, your soul will feel so bad that the saliva will run from your mouth in cup fulls
Patches of paint and sores will appear on your face and under your arms
And sleep will be the last thing they will let you have