clown poem

she ran along my fascia
singing seminal songs
while actually suffering vaginismus.
she had a Czechoslovakian dachshund named Mossbunker
whose scrannel exretia was a succotash to my beckoning.
her name was Forecast, had been a bitterling last life
but she practiced the angelus, also rime and rectum announcements.
she never missed rogation and slept in her heitiki.
her mayonnaise was mediation
her liquorice was levitation
and her nutant whipping boy was me
and the stitch was in the bifurcation:
I couldn’t stand the bitch:
she put out my corona(I) and my corona(2) and my Corona(3)
and her kisses were podophyllin.
I purchased a vizsla who opened the juggler of her Mossbunker.
in vertigo she ran to a souteneneur and Grobian,
Adolph Griseofulvin, a neighbor,
where she lived in the antechapel
collecting groschen and quattrocento.
I became left-handed and waited upon the saros.

Charles Bukowski
Original manuscript
This poem appeared in the following books: