Burning in water, drowning in flame

2 p.m. beer nothing matters but flopping on a mattress with cheap dreams and a beer as the leaves die and the horses die and the landladies stare in the halls. brisk the music of torn shades, a last man's cave in an eternity of swarm and explosion, nothing but the dripping sink, the empty bottle, euphoria, youth fenced in, stabbed and shaven taught words, propped up to die (Continues...) Excerpted from Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame by Charles Bukowski Copyright © 2003 by Charles Bukowski Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.