Featured Poem: The People

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



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