I have been loved by many women, and for a hunchback of life, that's lucky.

so many fingers pushing through my hair

so many arms holding me close

so many shoes thrown carelessly on my bedroom rug.

moments of agony and moments of glory march across my roof.

the cat walks by seeming to know everything.

my luck has been better, I think, than the luck of the cut gladiolus,

although I am not sure.

I have been loved by many women, and for a hunchback of life, that's lucky.

so many fingers pushing through my hair

so many arms holding me close

so many shoes thrown carelessly on my bedroom rug.

so many searching hearts now fixed in my memory that I'll go to my death, remembering.

I have been treated better than I should have been—

not by life in general

nor by the machinery of things

but by women.

but there have been other women who have left me

standing in the bedroom alone doubled over—

hands holding the gut—

thinking

why why why why why why?

women go to men who are pigs

women go to men with dead souls

women go to men who fuck badly

women go to shadows of men

women go go

because they must go in the order of things.

the women know better

but often chose out of disorder and confusion.

they can heal with their touch

they can kill what they touch

and I am dying

but not dead yet.

~ Charles Bukowski