Finding Bukowski

  I read Bukowski today, a poem for swingers, bookmarked and coffee-stained, living words I once knew by heart.   I read Bukowski today, slid him off a dusty shelf and trailed my fingertips along his side, spine cracked and stiffened, a lover neglected.   I read Bukowski today just after sunrise, with gritty eyes … More Finding Bukowski