I like Bukowski
Because I find him true
His ***** reality
Is mine too
All the angst and languor
I feel the same
Too bad he died
Just after I came
And now so few
Of my generation know
Of Him
Who's Bukowski?
They're asking
Quietly I tell them
He's one of the few
I have the pleasure
Of knowing.
Is it possible for two people
To have the same soul?
I wonder
Will there ever be another
Charles Bukowski.

Oh Dawn!
You never fail
To give me hope
Your sunshine is
My armor against
The rope
After a night of
Battle
With my demons
Inside
Your rays
As you rise
Makes them
Subside.
But just like
Everything
Else
You'll go away
And I
Won't...
Can't...
Keep them
My demons
At bay.

Carlos asked me
About books last night
He was a stranger
But I think it didn't matter
Because I could not
stop talking
About the books I'm reading
I told him about Pendergast
My favorite fiction hero
He looked genuinely
Interested
But I know I must
Stop
Right here
Because I didn't want
Him to know that
That's just what I
Wanted to do
Because I need a job
Too
So we went back to talking
About numbers and work
Trends and schemes
Some of the things
I'm not really interested in.