B L O C K

I’ve got a writer’s block, and in interviews I’ve said:   “I never
get a writer’s block.” and now I’ve got one and it’s a good one,
one of the best, oh, it’s fine one!
so, here I am with a writer’s block, and worse–along with it,
I’ve almost forgotten how to type–after typing for 50 years
I fumble along the keyboard….
S E N I L I T Y, I type and get that down
all right.

well, I haven’t been drinking nearly enough–my mind is drying
out–I’ve simply got to lush it up more!

this machine stares at me as if I were an idiot and I think,
I’ve become too much the gentleman–haven’t slugged it out with
anybody for about 5 years, and see what I get for it:   writer’s
block.

a block is a block is a shock.
you ever been constipated?–don’t tell me it doesn’t worry
you, especially when it gets into the 2nd or 3rd
day.

not much I can say, of course, just lucky to get this
out, bad as it is–just a fart in the wind as Dostoevsky laughs
in his grave, as the ghost of Celine stares at me through the
window

I pour a drink and
wait.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1985
Source
Original manuscript