For every J.—

[I]t’s good to have things done with
when they don’t work
it’s also good not to hate
or even forget
the person you’ve failed
with.
                    —Bukowski¹

Broken glass where your heart should be
fist clenching an emptiness thirst
never lets you down enough drinks
or glimpses of, the tenth letter

what hurts most for a man of so
many words and so few friends, crushed
to near-deafness by your own mouth’s
verbose alphabitterness, touched

by talk besting your thoughts’ process
stalling your cunning’s worst efforts
to remain elusive, love is
your nemesis, as I am, sure

as silence evidences its
victory when, at last, we kiss.

__________
¹Charles Bukowski, “the killer smiles [sic]”, [Stanza 1, Line 5–10], in Play the Piano Drunk like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit, published at New York by Ecco in 2003; page 107.