he drank wine all night of the 
28th, and he kept thinking of her: 
the way she walked and talked and loved 
the way she told him things that seemed true 
but were not, and he knew the color of each 
of her dresses 
and her shoes-he knew the stock and curve of 
each heel 
as well as the leg shaped by it. 

and she was out again and whe he came home,and 
she'd come back with that special stink again, 
and she did 
she came in at 3 a.m in the morning 
filthy like a dung eating swine 
and 
he took out a butchers knife 
and she screamed 
backing into the roominghouse wall 
still pretty somehow 
in spite of love's reek 
and he finished the glass of wine. 

that yellow dress 
his favorite 
and she screamed again. 

and he took up the knife 
and unhooked his belt 
and tore away the cloth before her 
and cut off his balls. 

and carried them in his hands 
like apricots 
and flushed them down the 
toilet bowl 
and she kept screaming 
as the room became red 

GOD O GOD! 
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? 

and he sat there holding 3 towels 
between his legs 
no caring now wether she lft or 
stayed 
wore yellow or green or 
anything at all. 

and one hand holding and one hand 
lifting he poured 
another wine

Poet: Charles Bukowski
Poem: Freedom

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