father, son, holy ghost

 

says he feels like shit even

         with the pills,

even with the booze,

and so a little more of each and then

a little more again

 

and he says he’s got this

leaky heart, okay?

 

subtle pains and

dreams of death and

what about the children?

 

what about the days

of immortality?

 

turned away for just a second and

they were gone forever, and

so fuck ‘em

 

and don’t talk to me about

cobain at 65,

or sid,

or the late great j christ

 

don’t tell me how your sister

had morrison’s baby

 

i missed the summer of love but

was around for the summer

of manson, and that should

explain a few things

 

i grew up in the

age of malevolent apathy and

i thrived, and she laughs when i

tell her this

 

says i remember you naked and

crying and being led out

into the woods, and i know for

a fact that i’ve forgotten

how this story ends

 

i remember the boy’s voice and

i remember the girl’s hands,

and then nothing

 

the absolute goddamn

boredom of drugs, right?

 

the fear of

surviving youth

 

the despair of growing old

 

says he feels like shit and all he

can think about is

feeling nothing at all