writes
me a letter,
tells
his girlfriend she has to leave
tangled up in
blue on the
car radio,
says he
never liked dylan
says he
never liked the stones
steps
onto the railing then out into the
open
air above the
river
but the story gets confused here
says he
needs to tell it right
shows
me his wrists but
they
have no scars
sits on
the bed in a foreclosed
room
and pulls the trigger
girlfriend
too stoned to move and
the
kids watching tv and
that
these are the last great days
the
songs of angels written
across
filthy walls
gotta
eat gotta fuck gotta
pray
but honey’s too wired to sleep
paces
the halls of this cardboard
house
and all it does is rain
no
apologies
no
saviors
stabbing
in the parking lot of the
mini-mart
on the first
day of
the season of ascension, he
lies
there bleeding, asks me
if i’ve
got a light, if i’ve got a smoke,
and i
tell him i just want to
get
back home
ask him
if this is the
right
story and he just smiles
sound
of sirens approaching as
i push
my way through the
wolves
and the vultures,
and i
think about sunlight
i think
about my
grandfather’s
suicide
how
blind hatred drags each of
us in
all directions at once
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