I remember being unmoved at more than one funeral at more than one memorial looking about impatiently impervious to the cries of the cry…

Oh, Death! Two beers and I’m on my back! Skipped the shower, skipped the toothbrush. Just a film of sweat,

Brian told me he held his own guts in his hands, his tattoo reads: ALREADY DEAD.

In your gut is an empire— Spells, tug of war, Holy Days, ascent, decline.

The only thing you can prove is how crazy you are. It’s the best defense. Where was I going with this? I don’t know.

Hell came through on battered wings, and thought to ask just one last thing. That If I could,

A tide of blood, miniature in compare— But an ocean no less, to the virus in there.

Nine times out of ten, it’s a demon you’re seeing, not an angel. They have all kinds of disguises, I know-I know,

In the most lovely of lands, before a backdrop of mountains and palms, there hangs a pall— All my Loves

I saw him on the side of the road, on the side of the interstate exit… Maybe he was 18, definitely not 21… tired but not yet haggard. The moment I saw him

It occurs to me now that no one hears my song. Still young, I am discarded. I don’t anticipate being surprised at my aloneness in old age.

Tears tears do a walk-by unload the clip don’t know why now

Therein are the spoils of sorrow, the fruit of hardship, where wind snaps and prevails. Death whispers a hollow secret and I still a shiver

One of God’s tricks is, similar to Michael Jordan, It sinks a three-pointer with 1.2 seconds left on the clock,

Just leave the fucking flags at ha… Or half-staff. Or whatever it’s called. Just fucking leave them there.