The Tragedy of the Leaves
by Charles Bukowski
said to have genius; butthe dead ferns, the dead plants;execrating and final,sending me to hell,screaming for rentboth.
by Charles Bukowski
said to have genius; butthe dead ferns, the dead plants;execrating and final,sending me to hell,screaming for rentboth.
'Twas suggested I post a few episodes of my work in a pleasant spot. I've chosen here. Sadly, not everything I've written has y...
4 comments:
Sorry I didn't get back sooner. Productive, busy weekend. Which is more than can be said for the poor guy in the poem, which almost reads more like flash fiction.
I'll have to read it over again because I'm not sure if the GONE gal is deceased or she just left. Not sure I have the guts to re-read it, though. It's descriptive in its dreariness. Right down to the fat fists of the landlady, who bewails the rent they both wonder if she'll get.
Autumn is usually my favorite season. Now I'm a tad bummed.
Cheer up and remember that you're not the author of the poem.
THAT would be dreary.
AMEN! I'm cheered.
There's one poem I wrote, ages back, "Ode to the Common Cold"
Don't remember the whole thing but one line still sticks out, "Get thee, behind me, you germ-infested demon."
Nearly the end of July and August is upon us. Oddly, those leaves have me thinking, fondly of cooler days to come. The fragrance of Autumn. Equally, I'm so glad NOT to be EITHER the author of that poem, or the landlady!
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