Excuses

One of my favorite poems by Charles Bukowski

Excuses:

once again

I hear of somebody who is going to

settle down and

do their work,

painting or writing or whatever,

as soon as they get a better light

installed,

or as soon as they move to a new

city,

or as soon as they come back from the trip they

have been planning,

or as soon as…

it’s simple; they just don’t want

to do it,

or they can’t do it,

otherwise they’d feel a burning

itch from hell

they could not ignore

and “soon”

would turn quickly into

“now.”

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