charles bukowski knew its a marathon, not a sprint


we know this because he never sweated the small stuff

he took his time.

he hit his stride in his 50s.

for years he lived just blocks away from where i write you tonight.

on warm nights like tonight i bet he would do just what we’re all doing

prop up the window, fire up the xbox

and watch don draper on netflix

struggle with his riches.

theres nights when im all how did bukowski deal with crap like this

and then theres nights like tonight.