the flesh covers the boneand they put a mind in there
and sometimes a soul,
and the women
break vases against the walls
and the men
drink too much
and nobody finds the one
but keep looking
crawling in and out of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and
the flesh searches
for more than flesh.
there's no chance at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular fate.
nobody ever finds the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else fills.
C.Bukowski
