Associate The Masters

The rich kids never read
Bukowski.
The poor kids all read the
same dog eared copy of  
"Women".
 
The Animal Control guy tries to feel  
Nietzsche while parked beneath
a shaded Eucalyptus as his frightened captives  
piss in their pins and wait on death.
 
She gave me my first copy  
of Kerouac and made sure she  
took it back when she
packed her things and left
for good.
 
I found Dante half dead
and forgotten in a prison cell.
His Inferno had been stripped of its  
jacket and scarred with graffiti.
 
I read passed the torn
and missing pages  
and when I was done.
I went back and walked
through that
Cold and Confusing Hell  
with Dante as my guide.

Over and Over again.