tribute to Charles Bukowski ( Ten Saws from Companion of booze)
"Bukowski?", he says, "okay?" lifts me up. friend, I think you better stay here tonight. "" NO. DAMN, I WANT TO GO TO DANCE loggers "then just remember I was on his shoulders, those of Sanchez, and he took me in his apartment on the first floor, you know, where he and his wife are one thing, and then I I found on a bed, he was gone, the door closed, and then I heard the music below, and laughter, both of them, but laughs gently, without malice, and I do not know what to do, beautiful things come unexpected fortune or people who are at the end if all the melt, well, at which point the door opened, a flood of light, and here is Sanchez. "oh, Bubu, a bottle of French wine ... drink it slowly.'ll do you good. sleep. be happy. I do not want to tell you that love. too easy. and if you want to be in, dancing and singing, talking, ok you do what you think. here's the wine. "hands me the bottle: the lift as if it were a phone a bit 'strange and Then again, ancora.attraverso a tent and jump in a tattered piece of moon consumed. is a perfect night, not the jail, far from it. the next morning when I wake up I go down to pee, I go out of my piss, and I find them both asleep on that couch just close enough for a body and their faces came together and sleeping together and their bodies are asleep, because I do love?? I feel just that little lump in the throat, the sweetness of Blus automatic transmission, which someone, they do not even hate me ... they even come to hope for me what? ... I go out and drained and pained emotion Bukowski and disgusted and sad, old, sun lit by the stars, my God, look at the last corner, the last bang of midnight, cold Mr. C., big H, Mary Mary, clean as a ladybug on a wall , the heat of December a web that crosses my everlasting spine, Mercy Kerouac as the dead boy lying across the railroad tracks in Mexico in July eternal graves sunk, I leave them there in their chorus of gold, the genius and his mistress, both better than me.
