The rich kids never read
Bukowski.
The poor kids all read the
same dog eared copy of
"Women".

The Animal Control guy tries to feel
Nietzsche while parked within
the shade of a drooping
Eucalyptus.
While his frightened captives
**** in their pins and wait on death.

She gave me my first copy
of Kerouac and made sure she
took it back when she
packed her things and left
for good .

I found Dante half dead
and forgotten in a prison cell.
His Inferno had been stripped of its
jacket and was scarred with graffiti.

I read passed the torn
and missing pages
and when I was done.
I went back and walked
through that
Cold and Confusing Hell
with Dante as my guide.

Over and Over again.