i want to keep reading bukowski

maybe i'll enjoy a line or
quarter poem in between
thought gaps in my
writing walk down
long trail lane where
many miles were covered by
many people whom
went for a rain and mud filled hike and
found sleet and snow and ice
old and new
piles
there was a sunday enrichening
two years to the day of a
eucharich
nature factored prominently
as it does

bukowski's voice in
the crunch believes
people are all sorts of fucked up and
hopes for a weller way

whitman was onto that
way i've incorporated deeply inside of
my non-corporeal core
hope may not be necessary here
nature is
nakedness
is
these is'es are important insomuch as we lay within possibly illusionary matter
open
to what is