Funeral for a living friend

Well, at least you realize you’re in prison.

most people never realize the depth and breadth of the bars, just the crumbs
dancing around their pigeon-post souls.

it’s better not to hate them. like doctors say: first, do no harm.

how quickly electron philosophies dissolve
when you remember someone you loved is a locked door
that never saw you standing outside.

pain reaches for knives floating in whiskey bottles and bullets in the ash of cigars.

when you think you’re a bit better, then disgust hits, you really only feel as good as plastic fangs in the mouth of an idiot and have to start all over again, hating everything they care about because now it sickens you.

and this isn’t even the job, this is just a spork of the madness of feeling too much in one corner of your cell. the hell of the job and bills and sickness and stepping around white puddles of slavery also await.

life is brutal. ask the butterflies nailed to the card. ask the lord. ask anyone.

You will escape it all Now or Now + a few hours.

we’ll wait together like smooth stones in a scummy pond for our day in the sun,
watching death eat the gulping fish.


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