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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=354684" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>These Things</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=354684" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">these things that we support most well <br>have nothing to do with up, <br>and we do with them <br>out of boredom or fear or money <br>or cracked intelligence; <br>our circle and our candle of light <br>being small, <br>so small we cannot bear it, <br>we heave out with Idea <br>and lose the Center: <br>all wax without the wick, <br>and we see names that once meant <br>wisdom, <br>like signs into ghost towns, <br>and only the graves are real. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=354684" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>Anonymous submission.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Charles+Bukowski">Charles Bukowski</a></strong></div>

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