Bukowski’s cast a spell on me

 

I walk the corridors of madhouses

 

to the tune of Sibelius symphony

 

I opened the door and there he lay

 

there he lay my love

 

across the legs of a woman in a dirty dress

 

a jug of Zinfandel to his left and he’s just

 

gotten off

 

of

 

5 days of

 

tequila

 

a piano in the centre of

 

the room

 

and

 

a bed

 

to the right

 

a table bearing a typewriter

 

hovers over his head

 

‘when you are not around”

 

he says

 

I’ll set this bed on fire

 

sing the National Anthem

 

he rips the telephone wire out

 

but before he does

 

he telephones

 

Paris

 

Madrid

 

Tokyo

 

intoxicated

 

he tells me stories about

 

how he was a

 

matador

 

a boxer

 

a pimp

 

a friend of Ernie’s

 

a friend of Picasso

 

God

 

Sober now he talks of

 

Insurance policies

 

Decaf latte

 

Broccoli

 

A very green lawn and

 

Garbage cans with tight lids.

 

Bukowski’s cast a spell on me

 

I rip the telephone wire out

 

But before that

 

Bonjour

 

Ola

 

Moshi Moshi