On Love. Charles Bukowski

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      GOLD GOLD GOLD GOLD GOLD!

      your eyes are gold

      your hair is gold

      your love is gold

      your grave is gold

      and the streets go past like people walking

      and the bells ring like bells ringing;

      your hands are gold and your voice is gold

      and all the children walking

      and the trees growing and the idiots selling papers

      34256780000 oh while you are

      eustachian tube

      red fire

      greenbugdead

      ivy

      cardinal and gold

      and the words we said tonight

      are going away

      over the trees

      down by the streetcar

      and I have closed the book

      with the red red lion

      down by the gates of gold.

for Jane: with all the love I had, which was not enough

      I pick up the skirt,

      I pick up the sparkling beads

      in black,

      this thing that moved once

      around flesh,

      and I call God a liar,

      I say anything that moved

      like that

      or knew

      my name

      could never die

      in the common verity of dying,

      and I pick

      up her lovely

      dress,

      all her loveliness gone,

      and I speak

      to all the gods,

      Jewish gods, Christ-gods,

      chips of blinking things,

      idols, pills, bread,

      fathoms, risks,

      knowledgeable surrender,

      rats in the gravy of 2 gone quite mad

      without a chance,

      hummingbird knowledge, hummingbird chance,

      I lean upon this,

      I lean on all of this

      and I know:

      her dress upon my arm:

      but

      they will not

      give her back to me.

for Jane

      225 days under grass

      and you know more than I.

      they have long taken your blood,

      you are a dry stick in a basket.

      is this how it works?

      in this room

      the hours of love

      still make shadows.

      when you left

      you took almost

      everything.

      I kneel in the nights

      before tigers

      that will not let me be.

      what you were

      will not happen again.

      the tigers have found me

      and I do not care.

notice

      the swans drown in bilge water,

      take down the signs,

      test the poisons,

      barricade the cow

      from the bull,

      the peony from the sun,

      take the lavender kisses from my night,

      put the symphonies out on the streets

      like beggars,

      get the nails ready,

      flog the backs of the saints,

      stun frogs and mice for the cat of the soul,

      burn the enthralling paintings,

      piss on the dawn,

      my love

      is dead.

my real love in Athens

      and I remember the knife,

      the way you touch a rose

      and come away with blood

      and how you touch love the same way,

      and how when you want to come onto the freeway

      the trucks rail you on the inner lane

      moonlight and roaring

      running down your bravery,

      making you touch the brakes

      and small pictures come to your mind:

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