Mas Buk

the dead flowers of myself

bulls strut in pinwheel glory,
rockets stun the sky,
but I don't know
quite what to make
of the dead flowers
of myself,
whether to dump them
out of the bowl
or
press them between
these blank pages
and go on;
well, all grief comes down
to hard death
and weeping finally ends.
thank the god
who made
it.

-- Written by Charles Bukowski, taken from the book Betting On the Muse
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Sorry for being MIA last week. My aunt died very unexpectedly early in the week and my mind was elsewhere. Ms. Smith was nice enough to accompany me to NC this weekend for the funeral.

I haven't posted any Buk since last August. I'm seriously slacking.
Back to work tomorrow.