there is always that space there 
just before they get to us 
that space 
that fine relaxer 
the breather 
while say 
flopping on a bed 
thinking of nothing 
or say 
pouring a glass of water from the 
spigot 
while entranced by 
nothing 

that 
gentle pure 
space 

it's worth 

centuries of 
existence 

say 

just to scratch your neck 
while looking out the window at 
a bare branch 

that space 
there 
before they get to us 
ensures 
that 
when they do 
they won't 
get it all 

ever.

Added: Feb 21 2003 | Viewed: 1887 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Charles Bukowski
Poem: It's Ours
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