though i know i’ll never see you again, i can’t help wondering how someone could walk away from you.

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each positive memory
distorted visions of the past
light speed present
a race car without brakes
we wait on the smoke
our last passing embers

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When I found out we were fellow travelers in melancholia, I began to search your work to find that they’ll say “troubled,” when they should be saying genius.

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2 caterpillars

fuzzy, rolled up and asleep (neighbors to the earthworms). neath the cemetery urn, they await the long winter to come, hoping they’ll feel the summer warmth.

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whose hands tremble. stationary in front of his apt. door trying to turn the knob. will not die alone, because he is taken care of by the town.

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wash away the vanity, the pride, and the ego, with the memory of the humble struggle which led you to the top of the mountain, which you now must climb again.

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