He had a voice like death on a ******.
We listened,
Our vision growing unexpectedly blurred
As he scribbled landscapes
On the window, and sang poetry he created by
Twisting  prayer around blasphemy
Around lust around yearning
With  notes whose colors  bled
One into the other
Into the other -

Beseeching, begging, demanding
The scars of our doubts
The armor of our pain.
And when, one day, he shattered the sun
Raining shards of gold flames like shrapnel
Down on the innocent and guilty alike,
We sat in our shiny new darkness
Singing hallelujah, hallelujah
Over and over again
Rocking back and forth
Clutching an old album cover
Like it was the relic of a saint.