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. 
 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 
 I was only photographing in words the reality of it all. 
 I put her photo by the radio
near the fan
and it moved
like something
alive.  
 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