Love Poem to Bukowski

SHREDDING

in a large shopping bag
you have saved expired credit cards
bank statements, mortgages
certificates of marriages, divorces—
all evidence of your existence

until one day you realize
most of it is almost over and why, why
are you holding on…?

so you drag it to the library shredder
and little by little
you shred your life away
with each slice of the blade
gulp of the feeder
you feel yourself disintegrate
certain now your name
is eradicated from all affirmation

once you had a family, a job, a house
a real place in the universe
that might or might not
have mattered

and the machine
is no longer hungry
but well fed, well fed
by all the shredded, irreplaceable
pieces of you

Bukowski,
when I first saw your face I thought--
my god, he's uglier than I ever imagined!
that big, pock marked puss
bulbous, alcoholic nose
looking like some scary
Halloween mask

so how did you get all those women?
some of them 'dogs', I admit
whores and druggies
but a few--
almost sophisticated
artistic, even beautiful

and when I read your poems
I don't think of your face
or saggy flesh in baggy pants
stumbling
along owl streets
after an all night binge

greedily, I suck on your words
let them touch me
like a tongue
in places
no man has ever gone