[dead man]

time has

drawn to a close. clock-handed palmful of roses
like those love-me-not petals how hearts so often unfold
the world i write is mine alone like Oliver Stone
scars obscure in daylight but in darkness they glow
snarekick symphony soul, our sampled records of old
god's pulse is but a metronome of x's and o's
mosaic memory mold mechanic marriage of motion
and whatever left me here when all my friends overdosed
magnetic met with explosives, bombtick seconds to blow
jetlagged and dopesick. veindrop bled into coach
backburn ready to roast. our home, this wretched upholstery
you read Tolstoy like your truth lay in the letters of ghosts
hardcover hare krishna. repetition refocused
barefooted lotus pose in 7 inches of snow
silken robe, our idols carved in marble, frozen in place
we've all had dreams our better halves have stolen away
barbed wire in our pillow cases. nobody's safe
tethered to our obligations floating in space
bought myself a mossberg, made a home on the range
you're not insane. you're just alone and afraid.
please join me in prayer
lord
can you hear me speak?