30.1.09

'claws of paradise', C. Bukowski

[...] there is nothing to do / but drink / play the horse / bet on the poem
as the young girls become women / and the machineguns / point toward me / crouched / behind walls thinner / than eyelids.
there's no defense / except all the errors / made.
meanwhile / I take showers / answer the phone / boil eggs [...]