for alyssa II

[dead man]

she's

pallid and small. blankets and shawls. her mirror is bleak
facing music, eyeing wanderlust. Ms. heroin cheek
scared of the weekend, very deceitful, frozen appearance
carrying demons. toner and tears. all bones and brasier.
mopey and anxious, married to sequins sewing her seams
smoking nicotine like prayer inside her mother's cathedral
heroic eagle caged in pigeon coops, co-op her retrieval
a choice between her father's voice and popping a needle
i told you once it killed me slowly watching you breathe
so heavily you sighed until your body conceded
to misery. to memory. to words from a novel
you've searched inside abstraction for an earthly revival
found empty plastic sandwich bags and mortar and pestle
bored behind norco and unimportant potential
a poor memento, my affliction, my affections in type
reflect on who you were in search of selfish respite
7 at night. walking aimlessly in search of a light
matchstick crackle tasting sulfur in our Turkish Delights
bourbon and soda. burning bright that midnight herbal aroma
she passed out dead on the sofa
words on her tongue, a can of Squirt on her coaster
Feynman in her epitaph and dirt on her shoulder
the hurt came right away but the desertion would smolder
i kinda write for you, somehow. it's nobody's business
how i chose to make your ghost a religion. alone at the christening
prone to reminiscing with a penchant for sorrow
in search of praise if only for some pleasure to borrow
better tomorrows as they promise in those meetings in rooms
coffee's complimentary and speaking is useless
modeling me after you. brave-hearted elegant sharp
i'm never far from anywhere we crept in the dark
i'm never far
we sang our songs in every restaurant or bar
but the chorus passed and now i can't remember your part.
irish breakfast and coughs. altoid can and a spoon
if i write that you're alive it almost makes it the truth





goodbye