By Charles Bukowski
Music: Madirfan from Pixabay
you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they are not.
those odd ones,
not many
but from them
come the few good paintings
the few good symphonies
the few good books
and other works.
and from the best
of the strange ones
perhaps nothing.
they are their own paintings
their own books
their own music
their own work.
sometimes I think I see them
– say a certain old man
sitting on a certain bench
in a certain way
or a quick face
going the other way
in a passing automobile
or there’s a certain motion
of the hands of a bag - boy
or a bag - girl
while packing supermarket groceries.
sometimes
it is even somebody
you have been living with
for some time
- you will notice a lightning quick glance never seen from them before.
sometimes you will only
note their existence
suddenly in vivid recall
some months
some years after they are gone.
I remember such a one
- he was about 20 years old
drunk at 10 a.m.
staring into a cracked
New Orleans mirror
facing dreaming
against the walls
of the world
where did I go?
用户评论