someone great

[Split Eight]

never the eulogy speaker. god, I've had practice-
everyone you've ever met surmised in a commented passage.
you wouldn't have heard this prodigal cushion of verse,
and Adderall would work more to curb
this waterfall of Woodford Reserve
than some scattered call to Cara where I butcher the words.
bourbon's the best for that lexical haze.
slur through the chords when I fret the exchange.

end of an era. the endgame was an 'end of discussion'
--you couldn't have ended it, anyways, without unending dysfunction.
Simply gone, being ridden rots your ribbing raw,
drips in the coffin's finish, flawed,
but you couldn't tell the way the lid was propped.
Wincing off the rinsed response. Tip jar in a grim armoire.
I couldn't go so far as to catalogue the prints of Pops,
a nice heart in a dark room, stiller still than rolled film awash-
throwaway pictures littered the fridge, the whole kit collage.
If I could I'd love to let the emptiness breach
the unexpressed, in one collective resonance peak.
the incandescent in the midnight lamp sheds a mesmeric heat,
quoteless. smoke sesh, no captions affixed to faces in a jar--
despite your set perspective the labyrinth makes the Minotaur