a division

I live in an old house where nothing
screams victory
reads history
where nothing
plants flowers

sometimes my clock falls
sometimes my sun is like a tank on fire

I do not ask
your armies
or
your kisses
or
your death
I have my
own

my hands have arms
my arms have shoulders
my shoulders have me
I have me
you have me when you can see me
but I don´t like you
to see me

I do not like you to see that
I have eyes in my head
and can walk
and
I do not want to
answer your questions
I do not want to
amuse you
I do not want you to
amuse me
or sicken me
or talk about
anything

I do not want to
love you

I do not want to
save you

I do not want your arms
I do not want your
shoulders

I have me
you have you

let that
be.


---
I have been reading a lot of Charles Bukowski on this trip. I can relate to him. I think I understand him but the difference between us is that he embraced the pessimist within whereas I fight it every single day of my life.

Charles never apologized for who he was - which was a person living with complete disregaurd for the rules of society. Eliminating most people from his life, and therefore relationships, his closest friends were booze and cats.

What an interesting character. And even more interesting to me that I can feel his every word - a guitar pick on my soulstrings that makes music that is both beautiful and sorrowful.