Alone With Everybody

the flesh covers the bone
and 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 a
nd 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.



Charles Bukowski

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