Jericho, at fourteen
Lifts heavy the light snuggie around his arms
Forgets some of the women standoffish with his numbness
Beaten into a craggy duff box

As an old man
Set free every morning in the dream door, sleep as empty and  numb
Drowning in light
Out and up from the heights
To the glittering spires of an exalted city

    To a raging wildfire slowly snuffing itself out around the edges

    Then, a young man learning the back of his head and what people called him

His death then was a shiny new pane of dark frosted plastic
    His nights then much organized plastic
    Dull as dirt 'neath the evening moon
    Each star hungry for sun to give it brilliance, something for us all to forget
     His thick toes gun for a thousand

None
Carving his face in the dirt with water
None
Stalling for a long time while away from him
None
Scribbling content hieroglyphics to forget her lying eyes
None
Descending ever deeper, reaching for the nets
That are hopelessly out of her reach

He rubs his fingers along the smooth surface of the tumbler once a year
   Against hope and hoping against a chance to ignore her face
   And he won't eat anymore from the split pig
   And stay in the oxygen town and stay awake for weeks at a time
   As if the hoot owl didn't have enough songs to sing.