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nature poem

you are 50,000 Light Years

running through my brain in

tracksuits or

you are like sitting in a bar

with enough money

with a good drink

and looking through the window

at the snow

you are the dead fish of miracle



you are the love-god of ice cream


you have diminished the screaming of

children as they drink my


I think that you have killed landlords

wanting rent

and also bad


there is a white flower laying against

my screen

like a whore

like a cat

like a white flower


I could not go to work

tonight because I could not

stop living

and now I am lying in bed

looking at the white flower.


—charles bukowski

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