-From Last Night's Read-

Checking the pillow’s
Spot of drool for the profile
It makes —

(Time was they all

Looked like Ho chi Minh,)

Early in the morning

With last night's sensations
Of being trapped
Under water or

Under sand— as increasing weather

Turned against the house
Throwing a wrench into

Tomorrow's planned preparations —

When the neighbor’s deep-

Throated basset-hound

Intrudes through the open
Summer windows,

Long after television,
Long after consciousness,

And after a couple of hours
Of late-
Night

Bukowski poems

Tucked beneath my sheets

I'm thinking it's best to temper
Complaining.
But christ, another

Night of that baritone-
Howling lunatic across the yard
Broke the last

Strand of reason and anyway,

When all I can do in the darkening
Is remember the last poem I read that night,-

I'm doomed to live inside it in the light of morning.