Charles Bukowski

I carry death in my left pocket. Sometimes I take it out and talk to it: “Hello, baby, how you doing? When you coming for me? I’ll be ready.

I carry death in my left pocket. Sometimes I take it out and talk to it: “Hello, baby, how you doing? When you coming for me? I’ll be ready.

– Charles Bukowski –

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Henry Scott Holland

Death is nothing at all,I have only slipped into the next roomI am I and you are youWhatever we were to each other, that we are still.Call me by my old familiar name,Speak to me in the easy way which you always usedPut no difference in your tone,Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrowLaugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.Let my name be ever the household world that it always was,Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of shadow on it.Life means all that it ever meant.It it the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity.Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near,Just around the corner.All is well.

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