Hamsun's Hunger and The Rest
At night it’s
usually Bukowski, maybe
something from the local
editorial section
but lately I can’t seem to shake
Hamsun’s Inger, the harelip,
the dead baby
the n**i threat that never
quite made sense
to me, the fear of Hunger
the want to write
my own
fears, and Charles
says sure and sure
And they all speak of madness
And bluebirds
And madness again
and I roll over and
MAD magazine
Seems like a good idea gone
bad, and I dream of Inger
with a million
dead babies
and
a perfect set
of lips,
and morning finally
comes, alone,
and weary.
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