Charles Bukowski
[Writer, b. 1920, Andernach, Germany, d. 1994, San Pedro, California.]

 I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of. 
 I put her photo by the radio
near the fan
and it moved
like something
alive.  
 I was only photographing in words the reality of it all. 
 an old guy in a cheap room
with a photograph of M. Monroe.
there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock 
 above me
feet walk upon my brain, monkeys fall from the sky
clutching photographs
of the planets,
but i seek only music
and the leisure
of my pain  
 madness comes like a mouse out of the cupboard and
they hand me a photograph of the
moon