weary curls the worm

to entertain is to forget and also to
remind, and a luscious sliced finger of rose
is as splendid as your own
stood in a warm cup of August,
and rivet this to wallpaper:
that all apparent is apparent enough
and weary is what curls the worm to cocoon
and butterfly might be soul
to men of easy reason
but butterfly
might also be
torn by children or
flubbed against a web
containing a red body of a most devilish
uninvented devil,
and so
all this sky and space to
walk, Easter holiday,
divinity like a kite, it can
fall–listen!–like a
to the floor.   fools scream: we retain
classical good
sense:   there are as many fools as
buttons.   the only thing needed
is a little more
visions on bad film seldom

Charles Bukowski
This poem appeared in the following books: