Charles Bukowski - Charles Reporting lyrics
[Charles Bukowski - Charles Reporting lyrics]
A Report Upon the Consumption of Myself
I am a panther
Corked out and bellowing in cement walls
And I'm angry at blue
Evenings without ventilators
And I'm angry with you
And it will come like a rose
It will come like a man walking through fire
It will chime like an unseen
Trumpet in a trunk
The eyes will smell like sausages
The feet will have small propellers
And I will hold you in Bayonne
And the sailors will smile and my heart
Like something cut away from cancer
Will feel and beat again feel and beat again
But now
The blue evening is cinched like old muskets
And the dangling sex rope hangs
As the tree stands up and calls "July"
And the dust of hope in the
Bottom of paper cups along
With small spiders that have names
Like ancient European cities
Cuckoo spit and dross heavy wheels
Oil wells stuck between fish and sucking
Up grey grass of love
And the palms up on the cliff waving
Waving in the warm yellow light
As I walk into a drug store to
Buy toothpaste, rubbers, photographs
Of frogs
A copy of the latest Consumer Reports
(50 cents) for I consume and I am consumed
And would like to know on this blue evening
Just which razor blade it would be
Best for me to use
Or maybe I could get a station
Wagon, or buy a stereo-receiver
A movie camera
Say, 8mm under fifty-five dollars or
An electric frying pan
Like the silver head of some god-thing
After they dropped the bomb BANG!
And the grass gives up and love is a shadow
And love is a fishtail waving through
Knit's of thread that seem-
Eyes, but are only what’s left of me on the
Last evening after the bands
Have suicided out
The carnival has left town and they’ve blown
Up the YWCA like a giant balloon
And sent it out to sea
Full of screaming, lovely, lonely, Girls
I am a panther
Corked out and bellowing in cement walls
And I'm angry at blue
Evenings without ventilators
And I'm angry with you
And it will come like a rose
It will come like a man walking through fire
It will chime like an unseen
Trumpet in a trunk
The eyes will smell like sausages
The feet will have small propellers
And I will hold you in Bayonne
And the sailors will smile and my heart
Like something cut away from cancer
Will feel and beat again feel and beat again
But now
The blue evening is cinched like old muskets
And the dangling sex rope hangs
As the tree stands up and calls "July"
And the dust of hope in the
Bottom of paper cups along
With small spiders that have names
Like ancient European cities
Cuckoo spit and dross heavy wheels
Oil wells stuck between fish and sucking
Up grey grass of love
And the palms up on the cliff waving
Waving in the warm yellow light
As I walk into a drug store to
Buy toothpaste, rubbers, photographs
Of frogs
A copy of the latest Consumer Reports
(50 cents) for I consume and I am consumed
And would like to know on this blue evening
Just which razor blade it would be
Best for me to use
Or maybe I could get a station
Wagon, or buy a stereo-receiver
A movie camera
Say, 8mm under fifty-five dollars or
An electric frying pan
Like the silver head of some god-thing
After they dropped the bomb BANG!
And the grass gives up and love is a shadow
And love is a fishtail waving through
Knit's of thread that seem-
Eyes, but are only what’s left of me on the
Last evening after the bands
Have suicided out
The carnival has left town and they’ve blown
Up the YWCA like a giant balloon
And sent it out to sea
Full of screaming, lovely, lonely, Girls