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Authors:

alone with everybodythe flesh covers the boneand they put a mindin there andsometimes a soul, and the women breakvases against the wallsand them men drink toomuchand nobody finds theonebut they keeplookingcrawling in and outof beds. flesh coversthe bone and theflesh searchesfor more thanflesh. there's no chanceat all: we are all trappedby a singularfate. nobody ever findsthe one. the city dumps fillthe junkyards fillthe madhouses fillthe hospitals fillthe graveyards fillnothing elsefills.

Charles Bukowski