displaced

burnt in hell
a piece of me fits nowhere
as other people find things
to do
with time
places to go
with going
things to say
with saying.

I am
burnt in hell
someplace north of Del Mar
flowers grow upsidedown here.

I am not
other people.
other people are
other people.

they are all one thing
joining
grouping
huddling
they are
nervous and mad
and I am
burnt in hell

my face a thousand years old

I am not
other people.

I’d die on their picnic grounds
wrapped in their flags
slugged by their songs
dogs to their soldiers
gored by their humor
shot by their eyes

I am not
other people
I am
burnt in hell

the hell of being
with
them.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1990
Source
Original manuscript
This poem appeared in the following books: