Here you will find the Poem It's Ours of poet Charles Bukowski
there is always that space there just before they get to us that space that fine relaxer the breather while say flopping on a bed thinking of nothing or say pouring a glass of water from the spigot while entranced by nothing that gentle pure space it's worth centuries of existence say just to scratch your neck while looking out the window at a bare branch that space there before they get to us ensures that when they do they won't get it all ever. Anonymous submission.