这其实查尔斯·布考斯基（Charles Bukowski，1920-1994 ）的一首题为“写作”的诗歌。有些版本只有前面的9行。在苗炜那里看到了这个长的版本。又在网上查到，说这是布考斯基的“写作”诗的完整版。遂收录于此：
Writing
by Charles Bukowski
often it is the only
thing
between you and
impossibility.
no drink,
no woman’s love,
no wealth
can
match it.
nothing can save
you
except
writing.
it keeps the walls
from
failing.
the hordes from
closing in.
it blasts the
darkness.
writing is the
ultimate
psychiatrist,
the kindliest
god of all the
gods.
writing stalks
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.
