on your Love of Bukowski

I think you like Bukowski

Because he's the kind of

Thick skinned

cunt-of-a-man

You've always wanted to be.

So, you shape your poems

In ways

that fit his forms.

& you

Force

that same bitter &

Hardened nonchalance

To fall with crushing weight

from your tongue.

You're so full of

Those razor blade words

That seem to

sharpen your wit

& drive the point home

Straight to the heart

of the matter

& cleanly through the hearts

of anyone foolish enough

To get too close

So go on.

Knives out &

Bluebird in...

you're very

nearly there. At this pace

You'll become that bastard

in another verse or two.