relentless as the tarantula

• charles bukowski'nin bazı baskılarında bulunduğu kitaba da adını veren, adamın amına koyan şiirler kategorisindeki şiiri. homo homini lupusu konu eden şiirin, okunduktan sonra ne burada beş dakika ne de orada bir saat olsun insana rahat vermediği rivayet edilir. sözlerini de yazayım tam olsun;
  
  they're not going to let you
  sit at a front table
  at some cafe in europe
  in the mid-afternoon sun.
  if you do, somebody's going to
  drive by and
  spray your guts with a
  submachine gun.
  
  they're not going to let you
  feel good
  for very long
  anywhere.
  the forces aren't going to
  let you sit around
  fucking-off and
  relaxing.
  you've got to go
  their way.
  
  the unhappy, the bitter and
  the vengeful
  need their
  fix - which is
  you or somebody
  anybody
  in agony, or
  better yet
  dead, dropped into some
  hole.
  
  as long as there are
  humans about
  there is never going to be
  any peace
  for any individual
  upon this earth or
  anywhere else
  they might
  escape to.
  
  all you can do
  is maybe grab
  ten lucky minutes
  here
  or maybe an hour
  there.
  
  something
  is working toward you
  right now, and
  ı mean you
  and nobody but
  you.