ELITE EIGHT: Cimmerian vs. dead man - OPEN FOR VOTES!

[dead man]

i mean

what else can you say. our tongues touch to melt it away
what dies can only multiply but never decay
felt the thrill of abandonment and the terror remained
out of body on Halloween til the middle of May
mantras of our fathers kept him walking a line
bus to train to class to work to pause. then rewind.
start from the top. papers to write. thoughts to adopt
mathematics, shop, immanuel kant. carve me a box
dead to begin, let's set the scene: empty inside, seventeen
Oxford cap on his forehead. cigarettes in his jeans
marble archway mezzanine. Chandler notepad the routine
awake at 5:15 so he can live in a dream
before long, it's par for the week. alarmist asleep
counters to clean. markets to watch, hallways to sweep
carve a tree. hand him a rope. let it dissolve
a mystery that took a decade to solve, held in his hand
system advance. step outside of this conditioned romance
Zippo flash. let the smoke swirl. give it a chance
Percocet peyote and a paper to pass
Apocalypse now. Johnny Walker and a case of Mescal
dropped physics for a physical reaction he found
to make it okay. to make him a star. he made himself say
it was only a phase. pull a string and soak a vein. Órale
so they say. alleyways. crunching snow in his boots
Carhartt and a hoodie and a hole in his tooth
dope inside the lining. Miller Genuine, Kools
57th and Throop. living on the edge.. of a stoop
noose around his neck that pulls whenever he shoots
another dose, Geronimo, he's back in the loop
panic attacking his roots. blacking out and waking in sweat
somebody made his bed. his parents framed in the distance
Father. with his mantras and his rides to the clinic
he found god inside that Civic. no figurative phrase
could thank him enough for loving such incompetent failure
into somebody's son. symptomatic, simple disaster
who took breakfast lunch and dinner for granted. hungry for nothing
but a way to escape. breaking down and sobbing for days
he thought it was the end until Apocalypse faded
and left him in silence. no buzzing in the back of his head
took off his number 3 and went to practice instead
fell back into his calendar. culture-shock is the term
for leaving one reality for years, then returning
blood is thicker than water. heart is thicker than hope
dead men swim in a river we traverse in a boat
soaking in the clarity. how lucky he was
to be somebody's son, squander it with boredom and drugs
manage still to resurrect, mostly intact
save the one thing that we're never getting back.





- black