Bukowski

i found Bukowski on the hot streets of Salt Lake City
when my world was on the cusp of dismantling itself

reading that kind of poetry
was like reading about my life
before/as it was unfolding
the real tangible evidence
of my own abandonment
made clear
in each messily constructed
sentence

i stole his books from the library
stacks and stacks of poetry
i read "Post Office" six times
as my father was passed out on the couch
of my one bedroom apartment

then the landlord would knock on the front door
and i wouldn't make a sound
until eventually, i hopped a greyhound bus
to california