Poem by Henry Charles Bukowski

8 count

from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
one flies
off.
then
another.
one is left,
then
it too
is gone.
my typewriter is
tombstone
still.
and I am
reduced to bird
watching.
just thought I'd
let you
know,
fucker.

1. consummation of grief
2. poetry readings
3. so you want to be a writer
4. the genius of the crowd
5. the shower

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