there is no death
we are crumbling
under the enormous
immeasurable weight
of our inevitability
each change, twist, turn
part of a larger orchestra
in sickness and in health
for better or worse
until acceptance
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the sun shines brightly cutting through the haze into tight corners of the post-atomic daze the concrete alley floor, with its broken flow...
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for fourteen years i wished my father dead at the age of eighteen i buried him it would take another six years to be rid of his physica...
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