I Met Bukowski In The Mirror This Morning.

You can see

it in his

eyes that he 

has walked a 

few miles and

taken a few

lives;

had a few 

promises

broken

. His shoes are 

worn down and 

his face grown 

out;

starts every

day with a

hefty bit 

of pain so 

he smiles in 

a wince and 

stands with a

crooked back

. He can't sink

or swim he's 

not looking

to begin

just searching

for a way

to pack it

up today

. His here and

now is gone

with the

whisper of

the tongue

and beating

of a drum

clocked out

and stone cold

these are the

streets he roams

drunk and with

no home

. Beaten down

and out of

breath he tries

to repent

but his idea

of god never

gave him the

laude

. Nietzsche told

him this and

Nietzsche told 

him that

nothing was

ever good

enough to

attract

so he tried

to keep out

and tried to

be aware

of the kooks

hiding in

crannies

behind the

infamy

. Aware of

the defeat,

a dirtbike

on the street,

a social

submarine

sinking with

the dream 

. Where humans

had failed, he

would observe

from quite the

distance so

as not to

get perturbed

sitting still

with glass in

tow

. And I'm sure

that he could

have been my 

dad.

~Good-night Milwaukee. good-night Bukowski--you'll never need to understand.

Love,

Digress.