At this point, I only hope he can rest peacefully
And that a part of him has been reincarnated into an unassuming cherub.
At this point, I just hope that one day when I’m old and grey-headed
In Soho or Orlando or in Florence...
I’ll come across a young man laughing.
A young man who resembles him: his unique look, the distinctive voice, distinct laugh...
I won’t know it and neither will he.
But perhaps we’ll meet again for a split second
In another time, another place, another life...

I am being crushed by the weight
Of warm cattails, two tons.
As the sun-kissed wooden fences make the world around me look grey- I suffocate.

Sadness and euphoria.
They are bitter truths that go together,
Like zealotry and bigotry,
Or monogamy and deceit.
Sadness and euphoria: sadness the shell, euphoria the oyster.

I wish the world would stop turning for just a second
So that I could have some time to collect my thoughts.
Because there’s just so many of them.
And only one of me.

Tell me,
How many sips does it take,
How many puffs does it take,
How many pills does it take,
How many sniffs does it take,
How many needles does it take,
To feel the way I do?

Watching car grills shimmering in the Southeastern sun
Listening to music with my mind on pause.
Jumping out of cars and walking home on my own
I see a tall blonde woman and a short black man walking home
She's holding her shoes, he's stumbling.
And I'm home before I know it, peeling my velvet jacket off, taking a long shower...
I listen to the music again,
Because it's always there.

Did you visit me in my sleep?
I dreamed we met up: I visited you in the hole, you let me.
A cop led you down the hall and to the booth
And you would not meet my eye, even in the depths of my subconsciousness.
You were despondent, distant.
But through that, I could feel the anger emanating from where you sat on the other side of the glass.
You were filled with anger.
Not at me, but at the situation itself. Maybe it was anger aimed toward other people, maybe it was anger aimed toward yourself.
You lifted the phone eventually, and I held mine, but neither of us spoke a word.
I remembered that dream today, how vivid it was, how I woke up a month ago now thinking I had actually visited you in jail several states away.
In fact, I was positive that I had visited you in jail in order to cheer you up. It felt so real.
After I woke it took me a while to remember that you had died just a few weeks ago.
And today after I retold this dream to a woman, she swore I described an otherworldly visitation.
I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you!
How many times must I profess it?
You did fine, and you’re doing fine wherever you are now.
You’re where you’re supposed to be, and everything is okay.
I promise, I promise, I promise.
I’m a skeptic through and through
But apparently not when it comes to you.
Tell me,
Do you enjoy being such an enigma?