the strongest of the strange - bukowski

you don't see them often
for wherever the crowd is, they are not
these odd ones - not many, but from them come the few good paintings, the few good symphonies, the few good books & other works
and from the best of the strange ones : perhaps, nothing.

they are there own paintings, there own books, there own music, there own work. sometimes i think i see them - say a certain old main sitting on a certain bench in a certain way. or a quick face going the other way in a passing automobile. or there's a certain motion of a hand of a bag boy or bag girl while packing supermarket groceries.

sometimes it is even somebody you've been living with for some time - you will notice a lightning quick glance never seen from them before. sometimes you will only note there existence suddenly in vivid recall some months, some years after they are gone.

i remembered such a one, he was about 20 years old, drunk at 10 AM staring at the cracked New Orleans mirror. face dreaming against the walls of the world, where did i go?