...and when the words begin to falter and I must be helped up stairways and I can no longer tr e ell a bluebird from a paperclip I still feel that something in me is going to remember (no mayter t r tt b r how far I'm gone) how I've come tho r rough the murder and the mess and the moil, to at least a generous way to die. b b b b b c c b Charles Bukowski --- --- -------