"what else ?", she said.
after we had discussed the day's weather.
and i didn't know what to say.

Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame - Bukowski

some dogs who sleep at night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
and best
in that dark green dress
and those high-heeled bright
black shoes,
you always cursed when you drank,
your hair coming down you
wanted to explode out of
what was holding you:
rotten memories of a
rotten
past, and
you finally got
out
by dying,
leaving me with the
rotten
present;
you've been dead
28 years
yet I remember you
better than any of
the rest;
you were the only one
who understood
the futility of the
arrangement of
life;
all the others were only
displeased with
trivial segments,
carped
nonsensically about
nonsense;
Jane, you were
killed by
knowing too much.
here's a drink
to your bones
that
this dog
still
dreams about. 

Charles Bukowski

love the way you lie.

wherever you are
rest assured. be happy.
the world is in its place.
people, though they drink.
are sleeping well.
the birds. though afraid.
are flying high. singing good.
the sea. although dirty.
is still magnanimous. enough.
the day. meaningless more and more.
is interesting enough. interested rather.
and i. though reluctant.
am still holding up.
so,
wherever you are
rest assured. be happy.
the world is in its place.
people, though they drink.
are sleeping well.

0134.0508.

i am tired of poetry. rudderless.

or maybe she is tired of me.

its not those sailing times anymore.

we have to find time. out of our busy schedules. 

to see each other. yes. she too is busy. 

finding better, suaver prospects. to endorse.
maybe the ones a little less indifferent.

i too have turned reluctant. 

learning to let go of old encumbrances.

its not forgetting you know. just letting go.

knowing that nothing lasts forever.

perhaps.