lost in an article on Bukowski
I fancy myself no longer a poet
I could spend the rest of my days
learning and devouring
this man
whose poetry
gave me my voice
makes me look at my work
and think
I’m not that good
not like
this man

was

he was dead before I met
his words
the first and only book
of his I read/own
is Love is a Dog From Hell
published in 1977
the year I was born
coincidence?
I ask the Word document
that stares blankly at me
silent with its secrets
mocking me in its wordlessness

I think not

I wonder if he
ever wanted to smash
his typewriter
like I want to smash
good poetry onto
the clean slate of Word

 © Kristi Swadley

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