early morning a fish vendor
shouts his fresh fish on the streets.
very cheap he advertises.
Very fresh. Buy it, and you will
not regret.
i sometimes imagine if like him
i shout about some poems. For sale.
Very cheap. You will like it. And you
well never regret the boring days
of your life.
Sometimes, poets are pitiful in this
sense.
To an extent of going into advertising.
Love me. Love my poems.
Buy me. Buy my words.
Sad state. Twisted. I don't do it.
And to a certain extent all races for words
arrive at shameful victories.
That thirst for honor. That wild quest for
fame. Bukowski died. We all die, to quote him.
We share nothing. And nothing eats all of us.
So what for? It is just defecating and sweating it
out. Just to live.
shouts his fresh fish on the streets.
very cheap he advertises.
Very fresh. Buy it, and you will
not regret.
i sometimes imagine if like him
i shout about some poems. For sale.
Very cheap. You will like it. And you
well never regret the boring days
of your life.
Sometimes, poets are pitiful in this
sense.
To an extent of going into advertising.
Love me. Love my poems.
Buy me. Buy my words.
Sad state. Twisted. I don't do it.
And to a certain extent all races for words
arrive at shameful victories.
That thirst for honor. That wild quest for
fame. Bukowski died. We all die, to quote him.
We share nothing. And nothing eats all of us.
So what for? It is just defecating and sweating it
out. Just to live.
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