Bukowski... it hurts.
how should I put it?
- maybe for the first time I realize
that as stupid as death can be
as inexplicable and strange
as it sometimes is
yours feels like
an unbearable extension
of silence
it's so deep and silent
a hole
I stare from the distance
reading your poems
and there's a glim
it's faded
but we can still feel it
it was there
it was real
it was life,
truly - it was
and I'd like to say something
inspired
something really clever
something that you would say
but then I realize
that you would be the one
to describe death
just perfectly,
silently
and I
well I can't do that
but I do want to feel
and say things
as you once did -
in such a manner
that shall make my death
as deep and profound to others
as yours is to me.
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