Love and Fame and Death

it sits outside my window now
like an old woman going to market;
it sits and watches me,
it sweats nervously
through wire and fog and dog-bark
until suddenly
I slam the screen with a newspaper
like slapping at a fly
and you could hear the scream
over this plain city,
and then it left.

the way to end a poem
like this
is to become suddenly
quiet

Charles Bukowski

Its been 20 years since he died 

(to within a day or so)

Not 100% on the law when it

comes to posting others work.

 If you're from Charles 

Bukowski's estate I apologise;

 I just love this poem.