Yr.+11+Poetry+Anthology+-+'i+am+dead+but+i+know+the+dead+are+not+like+this

=I am dead but I know the dead are not like this= Charles Bukowski

the dead can sleep they don’t get up and rage they don’t have a wife.

her white face like a flower in a closed window lifts up and looks at me.

the curtain smokes a cigarette and a moth dies in a freeway cash as I examine the shadows of my hands.

an owl, the size of a baby clock rings for me, //come on come on// it says as Jerusalem is hustled down crotch-stained halls. the 5 a.m. grass is nasal now in hums of battleships and valleys in the raped light that brings on the fascist birds.

I put out the lamp and get in bed beside her, she thinks I’m there mumbles a rosy gratitude as I stretch my legs to coffin length get in and swim away from frogs and fortunes