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Beer

poetry [ ]

from: Love is A Mad Dog From Hell

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by Charles Bukowski [Charles_Bukowski ] 2005-06-27 | | Submited by corina dragomir



I don't know how many bottles of beer

I have consumed while waiting for things

to get better

I dont know how much wine and whisky

and beer

mostly beer

I have consumed after

splits with women-

waiting for the phone to ring

waiting for the sound of footsteps,

and the phone to ring

waiting for the sounds of footsteps,

and the phone never rings

until much later

and the footsteps never arrive

until much later

when my stomach is coming up

out of my mouth

they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:

"what the hell have you done to yourself?

it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!"



the female is durable

she lives seven and one half years longer

than the male, and she drinks very little beer

because she knows its bad for the figure.



while we are going mad

they are out

dancing and laughing

with horney cowboys.



well, there's beer

sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles

and when you pick one up

the bottle fall through the wet bottom

of the paper sack

rolling

clanking

spilling gray wet ash

and stale beer,

or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.

in the morning

making the only sound in your life.



beer

rivers and seas of beer

the radio singing love songs

as the phone remains silent

and the walls stand

straight up and down

and beer is all there is.

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