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Charles Bukowski

The Last Night of the Earth Poems

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  • Karen Najerahar citeretfor 5 år siden
    I knew that I was dying.

    something in me said, go ahead, die, sleep, become as

    them, accept.

    then something else in me said, no, save the tiniest

    bit.

    it needn’t be much, just a spark.

    a spark can set a whole forest on

    fire.

    just a spark.

    save it.

    I think I did.

    I’m glad I did.

    what a lucky god damned

    thing.
  • ashilaalma30har citeretfor 6 år siden
    my wrists are rivers my fingers are words
  • Mariah Miklushar citeretfor 7 år siden
    if I had a book or a drink then I didn’t think too much of
    other things—fools create their own
    paradise.
  • Natalija Kuznecovhar citeretsidste måned
    death is nothing, brother,

    it’s life that’s

    hard.
  • Natalija Kuznecovhar citeretsidste måned
    I should accept this

    writer’s block.

    hell, I’m lucky I’m alive,

    I’m lucky I don’t have

    cancer.

    I’m lucky in a hundred

    different ways.

    sometimes at night

    in bed

    at one or two a.m.

    I will think about

    how lucky I am

    and it keeps me

    awake
  • Natalija Kuznecovhar citeretsidste måned
    it’s no use, I’ve got to admit,

    I am into my first real

    writer’s block

    after over

    5 decades

    of typing.

    I have some excuses:

    I’ve had a long

    illness

    and I’m nearing the age of

    70.

    and when you’re near

    70 you always consider the

    possibility of

    slippage.

    but I am bucked-up

    by the fact that

    Cervantes

    wrote his greatest work

    at the age of

    80.

    but how many

    Cervantes

    are there?
  • Natalija Kuznecovhar citeretsidste måned
    “you’ll write again,” people

    assure me, “you’ll be

    better than

    ever.”

    that’s nice to know.

    but the typewriter is silent

    and it looks at

    me.

    meanwhile, every two or three

    weeks

    I get a fan letter in the mail

    telling me that

    surely

    I must be

    the world’s greatest

    writer.

    but

    the typewriter is silent

    and looks at

    me….
  • Natalija Kuznecovhar citeretsidste måned
    not writing is not good

    but trying to write

    when you can’t is

    worse.
  • Natalija Kuznecovhar citeretsidste måned
    my cat looks at me and is not sure what I am and

    I look back and am pleased to feel

    the same

    about him…
  • Natalija Kuznecovhar citeretsidste måned
    it’s all right to be a starving writer

    but not

    a starving writer who

    drinks.

    drunks are never forgiven

    anything.
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