Wednesday, November 30, 2011

A Poem for Charles Bukowski by Eric Sparks

Just because I struggle
for every word,
doesn’t mean that I cannot write.
I just know how important,
the perfect poem is.

And on some days
the words tumble out of me,
with little to no effort, and I step back
and read what I hardly thought.

Other times,
it is all just shit,
so I close my computer
and my notepad, for I know that
day’s battle is already lost.

But generally, I think.
I think so hard that after I’m done,
all that is left
of my ragged brain is beautiful,
and I put that on the paper,
as best I can,
and call myself complete.

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