<bukowski's "eulogy to a hell of a dame"> 2004-01-15.9:34 p.m. Eulogy to a hell of a dame Charles Bukowski some dogs who sleep at night must dream of bones and I remember your bones in flesh and best in that dark green dress and those high-heeled bright black dress shoes, you always cursed when you drank, your hair coming down you wanted to explode out of what was holding you: rotten memories of a rotten past, and you finally got out by dying, leaving me with the rotten present; you've been dead 28 years yet I remember you better than any of the rest; you were the only one who understood the futility of the arrangement of life; and the others were only displeased with trivial segments, carped nonsensically about nonsense; Jane, you were killed by knowing too much. here's a drink to your bones that this dog still dreams about. back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad