one for the old boy

My friend Yan Zhitui of BeingsAkin sent me this poem by Charles Bukowski since I just lost my Jezebel.

I, like Charles below,  found that my kitty remained in my heart and woke up the day after she died to a sense of peace and joy knowing she was still with melife unfolds it’s mysteries and becomes curiouser and curiouser. I did not expect such clarity of presence. 

bukowski with catone for the old boy

he was just a
a dirty white
with pale blue eyes

I won’t bore you with his
just to say
he had much bad luck
and was a good old
and he died
like people die
like elephants die
like rats die
like flowers die
like water evaporates and
the wind stops blowing

the lungs gave out
last Monday.
now he’s in the rose

and I’ve heard a
stirring march
playing for him
inside of me
which I know
not many
but some of you
would like to


Charles Bukowski

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