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

and full thoughts

another night witnessed through to completion.


I read Bukowski today

and cried

for the words I had forgotten,

for the years rubbed raw,

for letting my gentle heart harden,

forged to steel

and honed to sharpened.



Bukoski poem

3 thoughts on “Finding Bukowski

    1. Thank you so much! This is actually the first new piece of poetry I’ve written in several years. Like Bukowski I took a long hiatus from writing. It’s like finding a piece of myself I thought I’d lost.


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