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As The Poems Go

 as the poems go into the thousands you
realize that you've created very
little.
it comes down to the rain, the sunlight, the traffic, the nights and the days of the years, the faces.
leaving this will be easier than living it, typing one more line now as a man plays a piano through the radio, the best writers have said very little and the worst, far too much.
from ONTHEBUS - 1992

Poem by Charles Bukowski
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