Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Bukowski Blues

Smoke fills the mind like
a below-the-pavement dive
down a flight of sagging iron stairs
old sunlight only coming in
when the door opens

Yellow-and-green denizens
Hopper's last stop here
mumbling in booths of darkness
& at the long bar burning cigarette
to cigarette bodies blurred
smeared blended
like cheap booze poured
but never spilled

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