I sit here on the 2nd floor <br />hunched over in yellow <br />pajamas <br />still pretending to be <br />a writer. <br />some damned gall, <br />at 71, <br />my brain cells eaten <br />away by <br />life. <br />rows of books <br />behind me, <br />I scratch my thinning <br />hair <br />and search for the <br />word.<br /><br />Charles Bukowski<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/now/
