Love is the way we boil
by CarolineOh, Bukowski. You rip-roaring belligerent drunkard. It’s okay, I love you anyway, and here’s one of my favorite poems. I can never decide whether or not it’s a spin on those terrible Love Is… comics.
(This man is definitely one of my Favorite Things but that post will come sometime in the future.)
no responsesa definition
love is a light at
night running through the foglove is a beercap
stepped on while on the way
to the bathroomlove is the lost key to your door
when you’re drunklove is what happens
one year in tenlove is a crushed cat
love is the old newsboy on the
corner who has
given it uplove is what you think the other
person has destroyedlove is what vanished with the
age of battleshipslove is the phone ringing,
the same voice or another
voice but never the right
voicelove is betrayal
love is the burning of the
homeless in an alleylove is steel
love is the cockroach
love is a mailboxlove is rain upon the roof
of an old hotel
in Los Angeleslove is your father in a coffin
(who hated you)love is a horse with a broken
leg
trying to stand
while 45,000 people
watchlove is the way we boil
like the lobsterlove is everything we said
it wasn’tlove is the flea you can’t
findand love is a mosquito
love is 50 grenadiers
love is an empty
bedpanlove is a riot in San Quentin
love is a madhouse
love is a donkey standing in a
street of flieslove is an empty barstool
love is a film of the Hindenburg
curling to pieces
a moment that still screamslove is Dostoevsky at the
roulette wheellove is what crawls along
the groundlove is your woman dancing
pressed against a strangerlove is an old woman
stealing a loaf of
breadand love is a word used
too much and
much
too soon.