'Don't you ever worry,' she asked,
'about being written off as
a poor man's Bukowski?'

I answer, quite honestly
for a pretentious, wannabe poet:
'I'd be happy being
anyone's
Bukowski.'

Which was a cute line, I thought,
but she still
didn't **** me.

Maybe I was
someone's
Bukowski, but I
definitely wasn't
hers.

Sifting through my memories
I chanced upon one.
The one I keep tucked away
in the darkness of my vault.
Only to be brought out for a feel of home.

Of a dusk spent, legs dangling
oe'r a window ledge.
When you came up from behind
and hugged me so.
The hug lingers on.
As do fragments of you
Now lost forever.
Like the *** end of a story,
still waiting to be told.

As I pick up the remnants of a life that once was,
I return to the one that is.
The one that I am half way through.
While I am not yet  through
And just maybe, we are not through.

I dream dreams of you.
In the darkness, I ***** for you
Bereft of us, when I wake up to myself.
You wave out of the frame and smile just so.
As though to say I told you so.
And I think to myself
Of all the memories, of all the people
in all the world,
I had to trip over this one, of you.

this little number
is for your sake
cause if you know
just how I feel
I won't have to fake
make no mistake
this is the quake
inside us both
if you hold me near
you can feel it too
you take away my blue
make me feel alive
anyways,
I think I love you

The numbness fades and it hits me all at once-
The crashing waves of ten thousand heart breaks

Your eyes were sweating,
Or at least that is what you said.
Those aqua pools, glinting with moisture
The sight of you broke my resolve,
My eyes started to sweat with you.

Oh you were a prayer answered,
The gentlest of men in the deep south.
We were kindred spirits that hung the moon.

Oh how it must have hurt you,
To pack up my things and watch me go.
And what do you do with the things that remain?
My daughter's furniture in your home?
Do you sleep in my bed and dream of me still?
Drink from my wine glasses and imagine I am still with you?
Buddy, I miss you.

There’s got to be a way out.
I’ve been struggling in this swamp for months.
Thought to keep striving was the key.
But it seems like the key has rusted,
Not working any more.
It has been too long to be patient.
Nobody helped,
For the fear of being dragged in the situation.
I still didn’t back out,
Tried to stand firmly,
And search for a rope.
A rope of time,
That was supposed to lengthen,
To help me,
To make things better.
Looks like it has only become shorter.
Passersby say-
“You can’t escape it”,
I feel disheartened,
Belittled.
I think about giving it a last try,
In case this time I am able to hop out.
Oh boy! That was a great moment!
They were all flabbergasted!
With all my strength,
And my courage pulled together,
I came out!
Stood on the ground,
Victoriously,
Contrary to their remarks.
Then I realized,
There’s always a way out.

Don't pay attention to the pain;
                                               it will end.
Pay attention to the memories,
as they are happening.
and then remember - the only thing factual;
that they only could have happened, then.
Think about the future, forget the when, once again.
that's the - future, past and present -
the sooner you can get over it -
the sooner you can deal with what is actually happening.