Treasure Island

Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Decline


naked along the side of the house,
8 a.m., spreading sesame seed oil
over my body, Jesus, have I come
to this?
I once battled in dark alleys for a
laugh.
now I'm not laughing.
I splash myself with oil and wonder,
how many years do you want?
how many days?
my blood is soiled and a dark
angel sits in my brain.
things are made of something and
go to nothing.
I understand the fall of cities, of
nations.
a small plane passes overhead.
I look upward as if it made sense to
look upward.
it's true, the sky has rotted:
it won't be long for any of
us.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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  • Shadow Girl (6/15/2011 9:10:00 AM)

    Beautifully written - raw emotion flowing - thanks to LP for introducing me to another true legend (Report) Reply

  • Richard Hexem (3/1/2010 8:52:00 PM)

    Insanity is the spice sprinkled over life to enhance its flavor.
    I believe Mr. Bukowski may have overdosed here. (Report) Reply

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