Bukowski's Blues Painting (Revised)

Down a flight of sagging iron stairs
it slides
and fills the below-sidewalk dive.

When the black door opens
It - and old sunlight - come in.
And smoke fills the mind. 

The Dugout Tavern on Third Avenue -
Gone now.  Like Hopper's last stop,
It was here.

Its yellow-and-green denizens
Mumbled in booths of darkness
Or at the low-lit bar burning

Cigarette to cigarette, their
Bodies blurred smeared
Blended on a palette -

Like the cheap booze poured
But never spilled -
And they never seemed to notice.