The Death Of A Bee In The Grass Along Mariposa Avenue

bee down, bee damned be doomed,
the wink of the clock has us all,
the drunken painter in 309 is no worse than
God    who will finally fall dissy
across his whole
unimbiblic creation,
and so the sunny drunks go down the east
5th, streets of forever
like a Mozart piano concerto
springing like tigers on what’s left,
bee down, bee be damned an doomed
so are we
what’s left a wee,
and the grass and the bud
and the neighborwoman walking.

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