|
mos
|
you see, this wall is green and that wall is
blue and the 3rd wall has eyes and
the last wall is crawling with angry famished
spiders.
no, that wall is sheer of frozen water
and the other is one of melting wax
and the 3rd frames my grandmother’s face
and from the 4th spills the bones of my father.
outside is the city, the city outside, a thing that
creeps to the call of bells and lights,
the city is an open grave,
so I never dare to venture forth but
rather remain and hide within
disconnect the phone
lower the shades and
cut the
lights.
the city is more cruel than the walls
and finally the walls are all we have
and
almost nothing is
far better than
nothing at
all.
charles_bukowski
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|
060221
|
