Accepting Ayers

Darkly I smirk to myself, staring at the words on the page

I feel a dim solipsism uproot itself from the tip of my spine and spread notes of dissatisfaction that I know will be ever present, evermore

Those words, after reading I think only, "why try?"

"Don't try" Bukowski said, and it's in rare times like this where he's nothing but right

"Zig zag meteor of a lit cigarette at night Anchors my eyes with it burning for a second"

Wow Ayers

I cannot move I cannot think I sit silently grinning and lonely, with a face of veiled anguish because now I know

There is nothing I could write that would cast a detectable shadow on those plain words

So brief but inspiring

So teenage yet knowing and wise

Each element of my rubbish bin composite and devoured quote self in steady hands could perhaps produce those words

If I had the skill and the diction of a greater writer those words would be mine

Yet I'll remain in my seething contentedness, my juvenile jealously and I'll accept Ayers

Yes I'll accept Ayers, I'll break Bukowski, I'll crack Camus and I'll destroy Dickinson

But I'll accept Ayers