The dedication
was ingrained
in his fingertips,
(like Bowie,
like Bob), yet
there was no
boldness,
no brilliance
in the decay,
(like David,
like Dylan,
lord willin').

And so
I asked him:

Shall I
dare

to play
Baudelaire
over six flights
of stairs?

No?

Is it really worth
that much to you?
Is it worth anything at all?
Is just getting away always good enough?

And then I said to him,

kid,
sometimes
you gotta bury
'em.
And this is coming
from me with my chest
resting on the ground.

Snicker snicker, giggle giggle,
it's funny,
the way your pen wiggles.