December 2010
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"The Pleasures of the Damned" by Charles Bukowski
the pleasures of the damned are limited to brief moments of happiness: like the eyes in the look of a dog, like a square of wax, like a fire taking the city hall, the county, the continent, like fire taking the hair of maidens and monsters; and hawks buzzing in peach trees, the sea running between their claws, Time drunk and damp, everything burning, everything wet, everything fine.
