Alone with everybody: Eric Fischl + Bukowski

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,

 

and the women break
vases against the walls

and the men drink too
much

and nobody finds the
one

but keep
looking 

crawling in and out
of beds.

flesh covers
the bone and the

flesh searches
for more than
flesh. 

there's no chance
at all: 

we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

 nobody ever finds
the one. 

 

 

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.