quarta-feira, 23 de janeiro de 2013

oh, buk!

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I'm too tough for him. I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke, and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he's in there.


there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I'm too tough for him, I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up? you want to screw up the works? you want to blow my book sales in Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I'm too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody's asleep. I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad. then I put him back, but he's singing a little in there, I haven't quite let him die, and we sleep together like that with our secret pact.


and it's nice enough to make a man weep.

but I don't weep.

do you?

 

- Charles Bukowski