Bukowski

I met him on the bus
The 28 Park Presidio
Bound between portrait
And praise
His anthology was discounted
So I bought it
He spoke of bombs
Roaches Women
Hollywood streets
Corruption Dying
Making death seem so alive
I wanted to destroy the world
And paint it as he described
My past and pain
Re-lived with his senses
To exit the bus
Sit in the largest puddle
Smile and write...