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Trapped

 in the winter on my
ceiling my eyes the size of street-
lamps.
I have 4 feet like a mouse but wash my own underwear-bearded and hungover and a hard-on and no lawyer.
I have a face like a washrag.
I sing love songs and carry steel.
I would rather die than cry.
I can't stand hounds can't live without them.
I hang my head against the white refrigerator and want to scream like the last weeping of life forever but I am bigger then the mountains.

Poem by Charles Bukowski
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