termites of the page by Charles Bukowski

the problem is that I’ve found with
most poets that I have known is that
they’ve never had an 8 hour job
and there is nothing
that will put a person
more in touch
with the realities
than
an 8 hour job.

most of these poets
that I have known
have
seemingly existed on air alone
but
it hasn’t been truly
so:
behind them has been
a family member
usually a wife or mother
supporting these souls
and
so it’s no wonder
they have written so
poorly:
they have been protected
against all the actualities
from the
beginning
and they
understand nothing
but the ends of their
fingernails
and
their delicate
hairlines
and their lymph
nodes.

their words are
unlived, unfurnished, un-
true, and worse-so
fashionably
dull.

soft and sage
they gather together to
plot, hate,
gossip, most of these
American poets
pushing and hustling their
talents
playing at
greatness.

poet (?):
that word needs re-
defining.

when I hear that
word
I get a rising in the
gut
as if I were about to
puke.

let them have the
stage
so long
as I need not be
in the
audience.

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One Response to termites of the page by Charles Bukowski

  1. Pingback: @ » Blog Archive » Термити врз хартијата

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