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here I’ll be
55 in a
week.
 
what will I
write about
when it no
longer stands
up in the morning?
 
my critics
will love it
when my playground
narrows down to
tortoises
and shellstars.
 
they might even
say
nice things about
me
 
as if I had
finally
come to my
senses.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...



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