tonight,
in this very dark
night,
looking out the window
at the lights in the
harbor,
there's very little to think about or
do.
I smile, looking at
my hands --
I always had small
hands.
now
day by day
they seem to be
growing
larger.
is it some type of terrible
disease?
alone in the room
I laugh
loudly
at the thought of
my hands
growing so
LARGE
that they can't
fit all of me
into my
casket.
what a delightful frightening
thought!
"what's wrong with this
son of a bitch? his
hands are the size of
his body!"
then
I forget all that and
look out at the lights
again.
- C. Bukowski
No comments:
Post a Comment