shop talk

the poems have all been written
and are safely tucked into
their manilla
envelopes
yet
here I sit
with another drink
another cigar
and as you can see–
talking about poems and
poetry
which is one of the
worst things
one can do,
it’s such self-absorbed
chatter.

I know a poet who seldom writes
a poem that is not about
writing a poem
and the poor fellow
believes that
he is the victim of some
collusion
and that he is
truly a
genius.

there are no people in his
poems, just statements like:
“I wrote 6 poems
yesterday.”
and/or
ect.

and here I am
doing a similar thing
but it doesn’t make me feel like
a genius,
it makes me feel like
a fucking
fool.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1990
Source
Original manuscript