Hope Sandoval (Mazzy Star), Select Magazine, 1992.
Either be groovy or leave, man.Bob Dylan
Frida Kahlo - From her sketchbook, 1936
The Bomb Shelter
When the world is still I can hear them. They come like humming birds or helicopters. They come and I can’t stop them, so I sit on my porch and light another cigarette.
The sun sets at 5 o’clock in November. This is the first sign. Waiting until it’s dark means they don’t have to wait long. I hear them coming but they’re only coming, they aren’t here. And so I light another cigarette and watch the girl downstairs coming home with her lover. If my windows are closed, I can hear them in the dead of night, clutching each other and screaming like the world is ending. I suppose it is, and through the floors I tell them, you’re right, but be quiet now. Your room is not a bomb shelter and they can hear you, I swear they can. I swear they’re coming for you. But it’s no use, lovers can’t be saved.
Some quiet nights, I don’t have to smoke alone. I can still here them coming, but I don’t have to smoke alone and they’re still only coming. On these nights, I lead my lovers back into my room and tell them, I suppose the world is ending. You can leave in the morning, I know you will, but just for tonight will you hold me and scream like the world is ending, just tonight so I don’t have to die alone. Some say yes. Some say okay, after I’ve showed them my books and my candles and my canned spaghetti and told them, the world is ending but we can be safe here. I tell them I was watching the news today, or reading the paper if they’ve noticed that I don’t have a tv, and that they say that a third world war might erupt at any moment, that we all might die tonight or tomorrow or in three years, but we’d better be ready. And I say, hey, stay with me. What if tonight’s the last night. And we haven’t had one great love affair yet. So why not, why not stay, why am I such a bad idea? We’re going to die tonight, I say. So just take me. Just take me. And probably, they slide out my door while I’m peeing or sleeping, and never call. But it’s no use anyhow. They leave and I miss them or they stay and I miss them more. Because the world is ending and I’m dying alone in my room. The candles and the books and the maybe canned spaghetti won’t save me. The world is ending I know this. I suppose you couldn’t save me either so you’re right, it’s okay, go, go I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine I have the girl downstairs to talk to through the floorboards, but when I knock she never answers. She never calls, either.
as the poems go into the thousands youCharles Bukowski, “As The Poems Go”
realize that you’ve created very