And the Moon And the Stars And the World by Charles Bukowski

I walk through these dark nights
trying to remember
what it is I was looking for
in the half-filled beer-bottle
of regret and sentiment
and long-time spent
sitting
waiting
watching
and wishing for more than
just that which will pass
through and be emptied
into the next stall’s
urinal container
for the soul
dismembered
and forgotten
but not by all.

I walk through the night’s
starry skies
and the world which reigns
supreme
and I think of the meanings
which can’t be
encapsulated
and I remember the times
that were better
because they are being
remembered.

The Stars and the Sun
and the Skies and the Blues
which hang overhead
while I wander
and wait and watch
and lay dead
beneath the starry sky
mouth aghast
letting it pass
through me
this liquidity
superfluous
and yet substantiated
as it were
by that which is no
more than
hoppy perturbed
unconcerned
bubbles and
trouble.

I walk I stroll
I walk through
and go on my way
over hill and dale
to see these housewives
and their beer-maddened
husbands and all the
could-haves
and should-have-beens
because I know
that I too must
wrestle
with these demons
these ghosts
which fill
the other half
of my glass.