Coming Back to Bukowski
Erin L. Delaney

Dispirited, I flip through piles of books
looking for something new,
something to bring on some fire.
Instead I stare down Bukowski.

We’ve been introduced before.
I open Dog from Hell’s pages,
readjust the glue,
recover the nonstick binding.

He provokes me,
pours me a glass
of words,
and this drink ignites
my pen to paper—
a drunken admission
a bare-handed back alley boxing match Continue reading “Erin L. Delaney, Spring•Summer 2017” →