some dogs who sleep At night <br />must dream of bones <br />and I remember your bones <br />in flesh <br />and best <br />in that dark green dress <br />and those high-heeled bright <br />black shoes, <br />you always cursed when you drank, <br />your hair coming down you <br />wanted to explode out of <br />what was holding you: <br />rotten memories of a <br />rotten <br />past, and <br />you finally got <br />out <br />by dying, <br />leaving me with the <br />rotten <br />present; <br />you've been dead <br />28 years <br />yet I remember you <br />better than any of <br />the rest; <br />you were the only one <br />who understood <br />the futility of the <br />arrangement of <br />life; <br />all the others were only <br />displeased with <br />trivial segments, <br />carped <br />nonsensically about <br />nonsense; <br />Jane, you were <br />killed by <br />knowing too much. <br />here's a drink <br />to your bones <br />that <br />this dog <br />still <br />dreams about.<br /><br />Charles Bukowski<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/eulogy-to-a-hell-of-a-dame/
