out on the branch

I was feeling shitty
stayed in bed and
drank wine, ale,
smoked and popped
pills
watched tv
smelled my toes
farted
intimidated ants.

I got very clever and
intellectual and
cool.   I became a
double-spy
then I turned into
a triple-spy.
I rammed a seaplane
into an iceberg.
I watched while a
priest from Madison
murdered his brother
from Pasadena.
blondes with diamonds
for asses
walked in and out of
airports
eating creampuffs and
walnuts.   I
turned into a
quadruple-spy.
beetles ran in and out
of my nose.
I sat poking matches
beneath my fingernails
and lighting them
under the bridge
in the bluebird
night.

then I got up and
felt better
much much better.

the bed sometimes holds
more truths than Marx.
othertimes,
less.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1975
Source
Original manuscript
This poem appeared in the following books: