liquid

As darkness crawls

Like a tortured kitten

Into a closet

best left

Unopened and quiet.

 

I miss it

Like I miss myself

As I miss Bukowski

Despite the new poems

Post vitam

 

His widow

Dances a bit

As he falls into the ground

Unrecognized, unsupported

Undead

 

Pianos and violins

fill my head as

My heart blooms

and darkness crawls

Like a tortured kitten

into a box of old poems

and dies too slow

Reviews

[imm's place]

Loved the flow of this and the play on words and ideals, mary

[Adam Chambers]

Hey, I really like this. Especially the part that repeats at beginning and end. Good stuff...