My Boots Are Kind Of Heavy

Tonight is one of those nights when my boots are heavy and my breaths all come out in sighs. I don’t feel like talking to anyone, reader. I don’t feel like reading the Iliad, or watching the game on TV. I don’t even feel like meeting up with good old Salinger, who I’m sure wouldn’t cheer me up either, but at least he’d understand.

And so I find myself reading Bukowski, which is a bad habit because he makes me even sadder, but I don’t think I really understand his poetry when I’m in a good mood.

Without further ado- here is my favorite Bukowski poem, and his most chilling one. 

Alone With Everybody

the flesh covers the bone 
and they put a mind 
in there and 
sometimes a soul, 
and the women break 
vases against the walls 
and the men drink too 
much 
and nobody finds the 
one 
but keep 
looking 
crawling in and out 
of beds. 
flesh covers 
the bone and the 
flesh searches 
for more than 
flesh. 

there’s no chance 
at all: 
we are all trapped 
by a singular 
fate. 

nobody ever finds 
the one. 

the city dumps fill 
the junkyards fill 
the madhouses fill 
the hospitals fill 
the graveyards fill 

nothing else 
fills. 

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3 thoughts on “My Boots Are Kind Of Heavy

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