Don’t cry because it’s over howl it from your muscles. Launching into the stratosphere. Till you don’t want to shave you hair and carve your loss on your head and than bust your skull open on the floor, the counter, in the road. Wherever you want someone to find you. The comfort of being splayed out on the highway for the world to navigate ‘how did that happen’. The conflict of being found in your bed ‘what was their last days’ .

A beast your calling out to.

Will they recall your name over cocktails? Will they drown you in appetizers and spit you out by dessert? Or will you float in on dark and drunken nights appearing in a reflection? Will they reach for your reflection to admit the loss of your loss or will they walk on by and forget to tip? Will you be whispered about in dreams? Or does their dreaming stop you at their entryway? That you will not be allowed further passage, from here and infinite.

The universe isn’t forever is it?

(November-December 2018)