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8 count

By Charles Bukowski

from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.

one flies
off.
then
another.

one is left,
then
it too
is gone.

my typewriter is
tombstone
still.

and I am
reduced to bird
watching.

just thought I’d
let you
know,
f*cker.

Copyright © by the owner.

This Poem Features In:

  • poems about counting to 8
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