+ the doctors have no answers +

rid your mind of mine;
and, here is his:



CONGRATS, CHINASKI



as I near 70
I get letters, cards, little gifts
from strange people.
congratulations, they tell
me,
congratulations


I know what they mean:
the way I have lived
I should have been dead in half
that time


I have piled myself with a mass of
grand abuse, been
careless toward myself
almost to the point of
madness,
I am still here
leaning toward this machine
in this smoke-filled room,
this large blue trashcan to my
left
full of empty
containers


the doctors have no answers
and the gods are
silent


congratulations, death,
on your patience.
I have helped you all that
I can


now one more poem
and a walk out on the balcony,
such a fine night there


I am dressed in shorts and stockings,
gently scratch my old
belly,
look out there
look off there
where dark meets dark

it's been one hell of a crazy

ballgame

-- Charles Bukowski, from "Third Lung Review" - 1992