This one is for you, Goddess of Bees, you in whom I live a while and die.
Folded sweaters on the chair beside the bed.
How lost the widower looked in the take-it-or-leave-it shed this morning, and how I said nothing, didn't even meet his eyes.
You want more skulls, we want more war.
Forces at work transcending our dim perception, decimating our limited understanding.
Writing in the side yard, wishing there were a way to share with you this breeze moving wild morning glories back and forth across the south-facing wall of the barn.
Resting my head on the blind horse's neck after midnight, he bears my grief like a father, together we are what make starlight possible.
When I stumbled drunk around Boston looking for fights.
You are gone and with you goes green (but not yet blue).
Giving head to strangers, never looking up, not caring, my mouth sinning to make sin more real for all of us.
Teeth made of concrete, fingers down to the bone.
Rain on the harbor, I thought I wanted to die but I just wanted to feel differently.
"You need eyes to care about dice" is a lie.
Still prefer to piss outside, moonlight on my one and only cock.
Oh great-grandfather I will go kneel by the dread whirlpool now, I will hold her anger for you, I will reach the terrible fear and study with her a way beyond it.
If you read this, write to me, I am dying of loneliness and I cannot finish the sentence alone.
Being held to be beaten, surrendering to it, asking for it even, your willingness taking something away from the beating that makes them beat you even harder, but still.
Fucks I would take back but can't.
Kicking the dead.