Чарльз Буковски. Наедине со всеми

Alone With Everybody 

the flesh covers the bone 
and they put a mind 
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against walls 
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the 
one
but keep 
looking 
crawling in and out
of beds. 
flesh covers 
the bone and the 
flesh searches 
for more than flesh.

there's no chance 
at all.
we are all trapped 
by a singular 
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the  graveyards fill

nothing else 
fills.