Charles Bukowski ate my girlfriend
He started with her head
Fiddled with her like finger food
Putty in his hands

Charles Bukowski took my girlfriend
Slapped her hard upside the face
Now she likes it *****
So this poets been replaced

I'd like to say so long Charlie
As far as I'm concerned
You can hit the literary highway
Never to return

Charles Bukowski took my girlfriend
And showed her a good time
As I'm watching from the shallow end
Of my kiddie pool of simple rhyme

Charles Bukowski ate my girlfriend
Chewed her up then spit her out
Now that good for nothing Charlie
Is all she talks about

I write for no one.
My cadence and rhyme,
My similes and metaphors,
My free verse and sonnets,
My poetry is not for you.

I write for no one.
My word painted masterpieces
Of lyrical brilliance
With balanced tone depth
And rich hues of experience
Are not on display for you.

I write for no one.
My sidewalk art is not for sale.
My music scores are private.
My dance moves are copyrighted.
And no one can make me share.

I write for no one.
But I reserve the right to be...
Contradictory.

I write for that little ******* the slide
Who is wearing denim overall shorts
Because it's 1991 and that's what people do.

I write because she had a dream
Once of being loud and obnoxious,
And I'd like to support her dream.

I write for that teenager
Riding her skateboard at midnight in A-town,
Because it's 2001 and she's got nothing better to do.

I write because she made a plea
Twice with me,
And I'd like to save her if I can.

I write for that college graduate
Who sits in the crowd, proud,
Because it's 2010 and people got some living to do.

I write because she lost a bet
And needed a way out of being muzzled,
So I agreed to be her voice.

I write for no one.
I write for me.

****
****
******

I think of you, early and often
When I wake you tip toe your way across my lips
I think you have unfinished business there
You twist your way into my words, rest easy in my breath
I never meant to soak you in
You tangle your life with mine, like your finger 'round your ribbons of hair
The world around me is ripe with nostalgia
Dripping sticky sweet memories of you, like syrup
You told me if we were born flying, we would spend our lives wishing we could walk
But we flew together
And walking just isnt doing it for me anymore