Poem: On Reading. And Writing.

Reading Charles 
Bukowski and Stephen 
King, that was the 
thing. Those were the 
guys. 
 
And yet I hardly ever 
think of them now. 
 
Certainly don’t read 
them. 
 
It’s not that I hate their 
words or worlds or works, 
 
I’ve just moved on. That’s 
what is supposed to happen. 
 
That’s what you’re supposed 
to do.  
 
I’m looking – without actively 
looking – for the next…