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Are You Drinking?

 washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
 out again
 I write from the bed
 as I did last
will see the doctor, Monday.
"yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head- aches and my back hurts.
" "are you drinking?" he will ask.
"are you getting your exercise, your vitamins?" I think that I am just ill with life, the same stale yet fluctuating factors.
even at the track I watch the horses run by and it seems meaningless.
I leave early after buying tickets on the remaining races.
"taking off?" asks the motel clerk.
"yes, it's boring," I tell him.
"If you think it's boring out there," he tells me, "you oughta be back here.
" so here I am propped up against my pillows again just an old guy just an old writer with a yellow notebook.
something is walking across the floor toward me.
oh, it's just my cat this time.

by Charles Bukowski
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