The Old Man

Bukowski knew how it was.
He understood what you
are going through,
and why you keep at it.

He understood. He knew.
He also knew he got lucky,
and later, even luckier.

Good old Bukowski.
Buk. The dirty old man.
He could have told you.
Maybe he did
in his poems and stories.

There is no road map.
No business plan.
You do the hard work.
Keep doing it.

It is what you must do.
You know you have to.
Even if nothing comes out of it.