The People by Charles Bukowski
all people start to
come apart finally
and this is:
just empty ashtrays in a room
or wisps of hair on a comb
in the dissolving moonlight.
it is all ash
and dry leaves
and grief gone
like an ocean liner.
when the shoes fill with blood
you know
that the shoes are dead.
true revolution
comes from true revulsion;
when things get bad enough
the kitten will kill the lion.
the statues in the church of my childhood
and the candles that burn at their feet
if I could only take these
and open their eyes
and feel their legs
and hear their clay mouths
say the true
clay
words.
