I was going through an old box. You know the type of box. One with notes, letters, pictures, trinkets collected over the years. Apart of the temporary stun of looking at my college IDs, reading some old greeting cards, I came across an all time favorite poem that I had saved.
Shoelace by Charles Bukowski (1980)
It's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse...
No, it's the continuing series of small
tragedies that send a man to the madhouse.
Not the death of his love,
but a shoelace that snaps with no time left...
Peace
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