and i can’t say much.
i knew very little of
that life everyone talked
about and to sum things up
- of course, in my regard -
i read Charles Bukowski
(when the rest hated him,
even trying to be like him)
after trying to lift Pound -
and even Mr. Shakespeare
with total foul perspective.
pretending to look very old
with not much to believe in
and so much to do, or else go,
doing so little, despite what
i kept telling myself in front
of this crazy broken mirror:
that we’re all what we forgot.
Um comentário:
very much indeed, sir.
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