all up and down the avenues
the people are in pain;
they sleep in pain, they awaken
in pain;
even the buildings are in pain,
the bridges,
the flowers are in pain
and there is nothing
going to
release it,
release us;
pain sits, pain floats, pain
pain is.

the music is bad
and the love
and the script

in this place now
as I type this

or as you read this
in your place now.

–“The Continual Condition,” by Charles Bukowski, from The Continual Condition


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