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I am with the roots
of flowers
entwined, entombed
sending up my passionate blossoms
as a flight of rockets
and argument;
wine churls my throat,
above me
feet walk upon my brain, monkies fall from the sky
clutching photographs
of the planets,
but I seek only music
and the leisure
of my pain.― Charles Bukowski Tweet
The Roominghouse Madrigals: Early Selected Poems, 1946-1966
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