the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
this is you on your
this is Li Po laughing
this is not a god-damned
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
this is the devil's
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
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
you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
the elephant dreams
the curve of space
you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
hearing the music,
being the music,
Charles Bukowski's Other Poems
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