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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354570" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Almost Made Up Poem</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny<br>blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny<br>they are small, and the fountain is in France<br>where you wrote me that last letter and<br>I answered and never heard from you again.<br>you used to write insane poems about<br>ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you<br>knew famous artists and most of them<br>were your lovers, and I wrote back, it&#146; all right,<br>go ahead, enter their lives, I&#146; not jealous<br>because we&#146; never met. we got close once in<br>New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never<br>touched. so you went with the famous and wrote<br>about the famous, and, of course, what you found out<br>is that the famous are worried about<br>their fame &#150;&#150; not the beautiful young girl in bed<br>with them, who gives them that, and then awakens<br>in the morning to write upper case poems about<br>ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they&#146; told<br>us, but listening to you I wasn&#146; sure. maybe<br>it was the upper case. you were one of the<br>best female poets and I told the publishers, <br>editors, &#147; her, print her, she&#146; mad but she&#146;<br>magic. there&#146; no lie in her fire.&#148; I loved you<br>like a man loves a woman he never touches, only<br>writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have<br>loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a<br>cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,<br>but that didn&#146; happen. your letters got sadder.<br>your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all<br>lovers betray. it didn&#146; help. you said<br>you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and<br>the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying<br>bench every night and wept for the lovers who had<br>hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never<br>heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide<br>3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you<br>I would probably have been unfair to you or you<br>to me. it was best like this.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Bukowski">Charles Bukowski</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354570" data-title="An Almost Made Up Poem de Charles Bukowski" data-description="I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems abou..."></div>
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