Hank for an Afternoon

“It’s so easy to be a poet

And so hard to be

A man.”


Charles Bukowski





In a spoken-aloud

Poem, it leaves me

Panting for more.





We gift each other,

In swimming pools;




I play at being the

Drunk pariah but really

I’m just lush, burning tires—

Drippy and wet with dim sex

And gestures we make

With the backs of our necks.




Never a fuck thrown

To the saddest of the loved,

From speeding car windows,

To the soles of fucking feet,

Lifted just above, for fear

Of breaking what was, the

Back of two insipid knees.




Bukowski (as me): the saddest of the loved.


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