some dogs who sleep ay 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 coimng 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.

Added: on October 6th, 2007 at 3:45 PM | Viewed: 2303 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Charles Bukowski
Poem: Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame
Volume: War All the Time
Year: Published/Written in 1984

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