domingo, 27 de septiembre de 2009

Mamá


no es un año más, pero para seguir la tradición... Feliz cumpleaños Mamá.


Mamá por Charles Bukowski:

here I am
in the ground
my mouth
openand
I can't even say
mama,
and
the dogs run by and stop and piss
on my stone; I get it all
except the sun
and my suit is looking
bad
and yesterday
the last of my left
arm gone
very little left, all harp-like
without music.

at least a drunk
in bed with a cigarette
might cause 5 fireengines and33 men.

I can't
do
anything.but p.s. -- Hector Richmond in the next
tomb thinks only of Mozart and candy
caterpillars.
he is
very bad
company.

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