January 2010
8 posts
“if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t...”
– “So You Want To Be A Writer,”
Charles Bukowski
There are so many things I just can’t be
and so few words to form an explanation why
but most days i’m contented being anything at all.
recovering from a virus
I have yet to feel something so unbearable
that I wished to never feel it again
even food poisoning those nine years past
(they said i may not live)
taught me something valuable
the knowlege, at such a young age,
that not everything lasts
and I may not live
every following illness
a knock at the door
a nosy neighbor
shouting
“not everything lasts!”
and I may not live
eight-teen and already I know my
head and heart have met
far too often
Head has done too much deciplining
Heart— too much listening
with a catalog of history
Head is
incurring loss of innocense
Heart—
aware,
helpless.
“There is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow...”
– Charles Bukowski