The last Bukowski’s poem (subtitles in brazilian portuguese)


writing often it’s the only thing between you and impossibility no drink no woman’s love no wealth can match it writing it keeps the walls from failing the hordes from closing in it blasts the darkness writing is the ultimate psychiatrist the kindly Escada ball gods writing stocks death it knows no quit and writing laughs at itself at pain it is the last expectation the last explanation that’s what it is you

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