Trapped by Charles Bukowski
in the winter on my
ceiling my eyes the size of street-
lamps. I have 4 feet like a mouse but
wash my own underwear-bearded and
hungover and a hard-on and no lawyer. I
have a face like a washrag. I sing
love songs and carry steel.
I would rather die than cry. I can't
stand hounds can't live without them.
I hang my head against the white
refrigerator and want to scream like
the last weeping of life forever but
I am bigger then the mountains.