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

Cherry ChapStick

The first boy I ever loved was a Catholic School Bad Boy with a mischievous grin.  It was the kind of love that tasted like cherry ChapStick and smelled like clean boy sweat.  Not gym bag “my socks have been germinating in here for six months” teen boy but pure and undiluted burgeoning maleness.  I … More Cherry ChapStick