domingo, 3 de junio de 2012

Splash




the illusion is 
that you are simply reading this poem. 
the reality is 
that this is more than a
poem. 
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip. 
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid. 
this is you on your 
death bed. 
this is Li Po laughing 
underground. 
this is not a god-damned 
poem.
this is a horse asleep. 
a butterfly in 
your brain. 
this is the devil's 
circus. 
you are not reading this 
on a page. 
the page is reading 
you. 
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room. 


this is not a poem. poems are dull, 
they make you sleep. 


these words force you 
to a new 
madness.


you have been blessed, you have been pushed into 
a blinding area of 
light. 


the elephant dreams 
with you 
now. 
the curve of space 
bends and 
laughs.


you can die now. 
you can die now as 
people were meant to 
die: 
great, 
victorious, 
hearing the music, 
being the music, 
roaring, 
roaring, 
roaring.

Charles Bukowski


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