Henry Charles Bukowski (Генри Чарльз Буковски)

these things

these things that we support most well
have nothing to do with up,
and we do with them
out of boredom or fear or money
or cracked intelligence;
our circle and our candle of light
being small,
so small we cannot bear it,
we heave out with Idea
and lose the Center:
all wax without the wick,
and we see names that once meant
wisdom,
like signs into ghost towns,
and only the graves are real.

1. Одиночество со всеми • alone with everybody
2. raw with love
3. the trash men
4. oh yes
5. the history of one tough motherfucker

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1586

Последние стихотворения

To English version