Charles Bukowski (16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Full Text:

the wind blows hard tonight

and it's a cold wind

and I think about

the boys on the row.

I hope some of them have a bottle of

red.

it's when you're on the row

that you notice that

everything

is owned

and that there are locks on

everything.

this is the way a democracy

works:

you get what you can,

try to keep that

and add to it

if possible.

this is the way a dictatorship

works too

only they either enslave or

destroy their

derelicts.

we just forgot ours.

in either case

it's a hard

cold

wind.