the words have come and gone,
I sit ill.
the phone rings, the cats sleep.
Linda vacuums.
I am waiting to live,
waiting to die. 
I wish I could ring in some bravery.
it's a lousy fix
but the tree outside doesn't know:
I watch it moving with the wind
in the late afternoon sun. 
there's nothing to declare here,
just a waiting.
each faces it alone. 
Oh, I was once young,
Oh, I was once unbelievably
young! 
from Transit magazine, 1994

Added: on March 28th, 2005 at 10:04 AM | Viewed: 7298 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Charles Bukowski
Poem: So Now?

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