literature

Vivre

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Literature Text

She died
In the little room
Beside the stairs
Surrounded by small fascinations.
She died
In the little house
On the corner of Right and Wrong
Surrounded by intricate studies.
She died
In the little office
By the theatre downtown
Surrounded by ticking clocks that mean money.

But she died.

She died
In the wall-hole library
By the shimmer-blue ocean
Surrounded by people who lived lives more interesting than she.
She died
In the thriving university
Writing a poem
While life occurred around her.
She died
In her parents' house
In classic suburbia
While the baby cried upstairs.

But she died.

She died
In the middle of battle
For the freedom of a free country
While mudering innocent men.
She died
In her bed,
Next to her husband as he slept,
Dreaming of small fascinations.
She died
In the hospital,
Under the pouring rain,
Surrounded by people she'd known all the time they were living.

But she died.
"this poem
was the one
who was sitting
on top of the
refrigerator
flipping
beercaps."

--Bukowski
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