Love Is A Piece Of Paper Torn To Bits | Charles Bukowski

all the beers was poisoned and the capt. went down
and the mate and the cook
and we had nobody to grab sail
and the N. wester ripped the sheets like toenails
and we pitched like crazy
the hull tearing its sides
and all the time in the corner
some punk had a drunken slut (my wife)
and was pumping away
like nothing was happening
and the cat kept looking at me
and crawling in the pantry
amongst the clanking dishes
with flowers and vines painted on them
untill I couldnt stand it anymore
and took the thing
and heaved it
over
the side.