battle call

your hair grows long and you haven’t bothered to cut your
fingernails, some weeks have run by,
stale.
there have been familiar agonies and petty
victories.
you have been
reclining.
you haven’t tested anything, including
yourself.
lifetimes go down the drain like this.
you can follow the footsteps of your father.
you saw him vanish into
obviousness.

it is now time to rouse the placated
innards.
call for the hounds!
call for
anything…

we’ve become all too familiar with this bludgeoning
languor, now let’s sing, slash, go forward, backward, any-
ward
but let’s
now
once more
for
and despite
the
gods.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1989
Source
Original manuscript