Is It Poetry

Gold Star - 35,931 Points (1958 - / From Tampa Florida And Still Living Near By)

Charles Bukowski, ' Temps When Confessing - Poem by Is It Poetry

Living off of long
white lies,
squirming out of breath.

Hear comes the maid.

Too change out my
yellow,
bear stained sweaty
sheets.

When I hear the key,
the bathroom always calls me.

I can not remember when
the black dried up banana's
out back in the wooden bowl
here she comes,
when last were green.

Pulling the yellow ones
from yesterdays bag,
I stand up too watch through the key hole.

Looking down,
I have never felt so much guilt,
always shaking.

Missing love,
I wait by the cooler.
Knowing why,
I hide inside, coming out.

When I am gone.


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Poem Edited: Tuesday, August 31, 2010


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