get the nose

Comfrock, you motherfuck
get up off your crazy knees
and I’ll belt you down
      what’s that?
      you say I eat stem pipes?
I’ll kill you!

stop crying.   god damn.
all right, we dumped your car into the sea
and raped your daughter
but we are only extending the possibilities of a working
realism, shut up!

any man must be ready for anything and
if he isn’t then he isn’t a
man a goat or a plantleaf,
you shoulda known the entirety of the trap, asshole,
love means eventual defeat
grace means eventual slovenliness,
there’s no way
out…   you see, you

hey, Mickey, hold his head up
want to break his nose with this pipe…
god damn, I almost forgot the

death is every second, punk.
the calendar is death.   the sheets are death.   you put on your
stockings:   death.   buttons on your shirt are death.
lace sportshirts are death.   free coupons are death.   carrots are
death.   didn’t you know?

o.k., Mick, we got the nose.
no, not the balls, causes too quick a bleeding.
we’ve cauterized the end of the cock, that stub,
but balls are more difficult.
what was he when?
we snatched him right off Madison from his cab
destroyed his home, his car, raped his 12 year
old daughter?
it was beautiful, burned his wife with
look at his eyes
begging mercy…

you see how it works?
it’s mathematical and clean.
nothing wasted.

kill him, he makes me

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