now that Bukowski’s dead
what are all the
wanna-be’s
that never were
going to do?
what are they
going to do
for inspiration?
who
will they
turn to now?
who’s going to tell them
how to drink,
think
or write?
who’s going to tell them
that Dostoyevsky’s cool…
that John Fante
had a way
with words
and that it’s
a lot more fun
to stay in bed
and think about it
than it is
to have to
get up
and write about it?
now,
they’ll
pick his bones
like they did
with all the others
and look for reasons
where there were
none…
and explanations
where there are
none…
where (more often
than not) there’s just
some slob
who lived his life
and wrote
and loved
and slept
and ate
and died.
there’s
no mystery at all…
really…
just
ask
Bukowski.