hard night, hard times, useless hard

the continuous welt of circumstance
finally brings a few of the brave
to weeping, others to murder, others
to offices of governmental power  and etc.
but the opposites I’d like to think   of
(and I’ve never been good at thinking)

might enter the arena of creativity (and
I hate the sound of that word, I like the
sound of the word ‘shit’ better)
I would like to think of a few of
these as coming through
like you know
I am sitting at the end of the bar
and all the heads turn left
as the barmaid walks   past
to draw a tap at the far end
and that’s it.

the continuous welt of circumstance
is supposed to be possibly rewarded
with a touch
of that?

I say, let somebody touch the button
and be done with it

order up.

Charles Bukowski
Original manuscript