Bukowski started his novel
Post Office with the line:
“It began
as a mistake.”
most things (good and bad)
start that way.
like this poem,
which had me thinking about
all the crap i write every night,
most of it’s not very good,
but that’s the way it is.
that’s the way life is.
you get up,
go to work,
come home
and go to sleep.
and in between
you try
desperately
to hold onto the fire.