I skip some paragraphs
but the interview goes on for two and one-half pages
it’s like milk spilled on a tablecloth, it’s as soothing as
talcum powder, it’s the bones of an eaten fish, it’s a damp
stain on a faded necktie, it’s a gathering hum.
this man is very fortunate that he is not standing
in a line at a soup kitchen.
this man has no concept of failure because he is
paid so well for it.
“From “upon reading an interview with a best-selling novelist in our metropolitan daily newspaper,” a poem by Charles Bukowski