yeah?

flying through the Cosmos like red hot
piss
only in tune with a pustule
spot of yellow upon
the end of a
finger,
this gotten somewhere
with a dream-like
squeeze…

certainly this is enough to hold
a truce with;
no more is needed and no
less
as outside
the engines of night
falter a moment,
I recall reading in this
morning’s paper
that old Reg Jackson
is going to give up
DH
and shag them again
in the
outfield.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1985
Source
Original manuscript