Virginia Woolf in Fragments

today i heard a british transcendetnalist speak her mind
to a homeless man in the San Francisco Public Library
the only thing i could gather is that her mind was a mess
she spoke in ridiculous fragments
the bum asked her who Virginia Woolf was
she said, "just a woman with words."
"Who the fuck is Mrs. Dalloway's problem?" the bum says
"oh nothing she's just alive, that's all." she said fragmentally

the bum talked about how the only things he read
were the bible, the koran and sometimes he'd read Camus
and yates and sartre, but he has only read No Exit once apparently
she said "oh you're an existentialist, then!" so excited
he said, "no, I just think Camus is a great story teller."
"it's a bit depressing don't you think?" she condescended
he said he didn't think so, not understanding what she meant

he asked if the black kid next to him knew what a "google" was
while the transcendentalist british reader and fragmentally cognitive woman
sat there and read and talked about "To The Lighthouse" like it was the bible
she spoke of God as an oppressive father figure, she would sternly demand
that she didn't need a father figure to tell her what "truth" was
then the bum and the british woman went out for a drink
and then they fucked until 3am
never again did they talk about Virginia Woolf.

What is This Mess?

i don't know, he says
slipping one last time
trying to reach for something golden
but it wasn't there
but he continues to
argue about the afterlife
and books and music
and art and food
literature and existantialism
like it really matters
what one says in their darkest moments

most people cling to meaning
some people to youth
some people still;
believe that youth is meaningful
and that age is worthless
that life was better
in the young mind
that we used to inhabit

but when we cradle our filth
day after day
in words and in habits
and in our terrible deeds
and our manipulative mannerisms
it gives way to what we could have been
but will never be

Your Apocalypse

sometimes it's beautiful
when the sun hits the bay
just at the right time
with the right speed
with just the right amount
of arrogance and pity
on this beautiful city
that wreaks of shit
piss and cum

the reality of the beauty
is that it is being built
on the backs of
paxil and prozac
filled artists who are
in a desperate stroke of
their own will
are trying to
never be sad again

but not me
i've officially embraced
the unthinkable truth
the deep decay of my soul
that has been wrought
upon the earth
where i spit my curses
and my limited blessings
but believe the sarcastic
wit that is flung from my throat
as the critic wails
in passive relief
that the surrounding city blocks
would ultimately
swallow me up
in it's cervix

then there's this sexual
dialect that is wasting away
on the tongue that has ruined everything
but i don't speak lightly
of the damage
no, i believe in it
i relish in the desire
to cure this wickedness
with a shovel
and pure sweat
the books and their authors
say that it just can't be done
the shovel breaks
and the sweat dries itself
in the heat

then the toxins of my past
rise up in an angry mesh
of lust and fucking disgusting
filth in the form of a
one way dialogue with
the man who gave me
my first birth
that is now rendered
meaningless by the free gift
but yet you throw it in my face
with your declarations of false
humility in the face of the sweat
that never hit your brow
and the shovel that you've never picked up
and the curses that you have spit upon me
every day of my ecclesiastical
meaningless life

oh yes you have given it to me
but you can never take it away
you will never lift a finger
because your useless bones
now creak with the reality of your
age and the altruisms
that gave way when you gave them away

yes, you've got these words that you say
and we're all supposed to eat gladly
but you will meet the fucking grave
and no one will bat an eye
because all of the people
that you have massacred
with your pain
will have gladly
forgotten all about
you

Kick Drum

i reach for the kick drum
that gave me life
as it hammers the sound
of a transvestite
in high heels
crusing the magazine rack
believing that
there will be meaning
in her fall from grace

in the same way i see a trash can
right next to a spaniard
reading Harpers
with an almost infuriating
command of attention
i hope the story is good

then i reach again
for the kick drum
calling me back
to hot summer afternoons
playing bad religion covers
in my best friends bedroom
as i made vow after vow
to get the fuck out
i kept every last one

but the dichotomy
still rests
in my endless movements
from state to state
sleeping the greyhound bus
to San Francisco
and then LA
and then back to Eureka

and then on through Colorado
through Salt Lake City
with poignant breaks

in the dirty south
and in Kentucky
and then Nashville
then to Virginia
where we got married

now we both reach for the kick drum
waiting patiently for the stillness
that is a residence
with space to act like humans
sealed until it all ends
in a gasping breath
oh how i wish
my dear Lord
would have let me
suffer all of this
alone
with a kick drum

Prayer of Faith

sweating like
flesh does in the sun
as the clock ticks
and the hour hand
does its selfish dance
and at least a few million
revolutions

and as the bank account empties
and she cries on my bed
somehow I'm supposed to believe
that my ungrateful heart
caused all of this

well how about
you go fuck yourself instead?

New York

out on a limb
for the first time
in a while
peering out my
larger than life window
into the garden
that is lined with
cemented regret

and the old prose
that keeps letting itself go
begging for a world war
wondering if the sun
shining through
has the power to lift
this broken heart

but i wade through it anyway
i list the reasons
why we mustn't waste our
time and how
the clock is ferociously
ticking our lives
into dust

and that one fine day
we will wake up in
our old creaky beds
with our backs broken
from the weight that we've carried
and the desires we suppressed
and we'll say:

"we should have moved to new york--
we should have fucked like animals--
we should have committed more time--
drinking ourselves into oblivion--
and creating, goddamn it, Zeke...

forever creating and recreating
all of this fucking solace
through the demonstrative waste
laid down on canvas, tape & film.
oh how we could have loved so much
more, in new york."

Fail

in the morning when i wake up
Fail
when i open my fat mouth
Fail
when i lift a finger to do anything
Fail
when i finally think i've accomplished anything
Fail
when i drink myself to sleep
Fail
when i verbally batter the one i love
Fail
when i was born
Fail
when i die
Fail

A Brief Moment of Clarity

what do i know?
but i've been touting around
a duffle bag full of wise cracks
spitting words into the side streets
where people rest
or at least they try to
but i prove them wrong
i know all the right songs
all the right books
i know the ambiguity
of the universe
and that is meaningful
my mind wanders back and forth
like that crazy fucker on the street
shouting obscenities
just so that in case he dies
in a few moments
he can at last
be heard
even if his voice
his ideas
are all at once
mocked and forgotten

but You still pursue
the vomit, blood and cum
that takes residence in my heart
the whiskey i drink to forget You
you reside in the taste
as it burns down my throat
and sits in my stomach and turns
only to call me back
always and
endlessly
calling me back
to brokenness
humility
fragility
in Your loving arms
where there is no redemption
redemption will come
or so is the promise
and even as i reject
your covenantal spit
over and over
it never
rejects me
not now
not ever

Valencia St and a Cold Heart

underneath a cold blooded sky
you will remain bloodless
and cold from the over arching
sleeplessness that doesn't
even matter
anymore

but the icicles that have
surrounded your heart
will let you drown
and be damned
like the leather clad
whore that you are

how's that for edification?

Northern(er)

this is the key
you have forgotten
this bleak death
of the old world
and this new life ahead
but there will be no forgiveness
even in your filth
there is reality
and you are no reality
but you say "fuck you"
to the great administrator
in the sky

I Can Barely Remember Things Before You Came

underestimated the future
and the weight
and the bruise
and the finality
that was you
when the gloves
came off and we lost
the changing rhythms
that came with the smoke
and the lights
and the sacrifice
that we would give
and give and take
until it all
just fell away
and away we
would go
until it
would finally
be gone
like my fears
promised it would

Notes From Mission St.

fuck yeah
i've changed my city
changed my name
this new beginning
where nobody knows
where i've been
or what i'm doing
and i can take pride
in the false joy
that comes with
drinking and smoking
all the while
throwing the only
thing that is tangible
under the bus
while i shit
piss
and moan
about the all
of this fleeting
bullshit
that will not
even last the whole year
but fuck it
i'm an intellectual
and i "know" things
so it's a good thing
i have this city and
the overwhelming rage
that comes with breathing
and walking these streets
that just make me even more angry
than i ever was
before

This Is America, Motherfuckers

this is the kingdom
the slavery songs
we're singing
for to believe
that there is
such a thing
as freedom

Useless Career

He said, do you think anyone
will give a shit
about your writing
when you are 80?

I said, No.
Let's chat about
the weather.

Don't Debate Existentially

because then that would mean that we actually do exist
with one another
asking the hard why's
and why not's
but this is a truth that you just cannot spin
because to investigate through this analytical lens
is not impossible
and the end is not likely
because there is no answer
that you can provide
that would at last make me
change my mind
and move to your side
ever again

There Was a Time When I Thought Everything Would Fade Into Nothing, and It Did

an era of stumbling
into things
that i would never have
crashed into before
but the necessary
blood that has been
spilled along the way
makes it easier not to cling
to the fuck you's
and the i hope to never see you again's
but most importantly the
it's so impossible to let go's
that have plagued the empty space
where the heart and soul
has carried me onward
now it just doesn't matter anymore
the daydream that is my consciousness
has shifted and
a new one has taken its place
thankfully

Seattle Will Sink Into the Sound Eventually

this kingdom I have created
from the dust
of trailer parks
and meth labs
and mountains
and rivers
and lakes
and space needles
and pho houses
and microbrews
and cheap whiskey nights
and clove cigarettes
and left wing publications
and berating those with whom I disagree
and with passive aggressivism
and with sad eyes
and punk rock songs
and bloody noses
and false hopes
will topple to the ground
when I wake in the morning

National Neographic

this dead town
where the streets
are made up of ghosts
are lifting themselves
up into the backyard
of a black heart
with no hope for peace
but the sleep
you search for
doesn't really come
or, you can't call it slumber
but you can certainly name things
and rename things
and give air to
this bludgeoned mess
no, i have read this thing to death
and made much of the hysteria
of the moment
but generically,
moments are only momentary
never to be bled out again
until my heart runs cold
like the "n" word in the south
after all the delusional
affluent assholes in petticoats
and thick rimmed glasses
put down "Uncle Toms Cabin"
and pick up a hammer
and rebuild what they've
totally destroyed

The Girl With The Dead Dad

totally fucking destroyed
by your body
the wreckage comes to complete
drunkenness
when you speak
and you do so softly
like you are washing me
i cling to your
irreverent beauty
that no one seems to understand
but when we're drunk
and walking the straightaways at midnight
with you by my side
and your soft skin
masking the pain i feel
that is so deep
i long to kiss you deeply
but i can't kiss you deep enough
because that deep doesn't exist
outside of the "you" and "me"
as we've pressed onto the "oneness"
sleep deprived and dizzy with dillusion
as we've switched oceanic coasts
we quit drinking and started again
we screamed and shouted and fucked and cried
and we died just a little bit inside
how will we ever recover
from this love?

Let's Get Drunk and Play Worst-Case Scenario

i
am
clearly
unnecessarily
bitter
about
the
past

why
aren't
you?

Cheater

now at last i have an out
you have pinned me to the wall before
but never again
now he can fuck your brains out
i don't care
i never deserved this
now after i eat this hamburger
drink this whiskey
and take a shit
i can go fuck anything that moves

thanks, babe!

You Take the High Road, I'll Just Take the Blame

when all by yourself
in your worry
in the filth
that is your
naked consciousness
you rest in your
weary heart
while the rest of the world
keeps on moving
deafened by the transparent
way we dance and sing
ourselves into oblivion
but not you
you are at a stand still
untouchable in your mores
undeserved of all this wretched
pain attached to the
consequences of lust
you're above it all
and you take a stand
unlike the rest of us
against the greatest sin
of all

This Too, Shall Past

the days and the clocks that make up the years
will carry on and make their stamp on the unknown
and we will cling, or at least i will
to those old ideas that have attached themselves to me

and there will be arguments
and there will be good times
and there will be peace in the valley
for me, one day

but not here, not anywhere
but there will be moments of rest
there will be moments of laughter
there willl be moments of sheer drunkeness
there will be hours upon hours of fucking
and after the cum dries
i think at last
i will be alright

God Is In The Fuck

like a hurricane cutting through this mess
with truth and swells of ambiguous notions of love
turned on it's hinge again by the destruction of this drug
that has leached itself to my soul while i hide in the attic
of my mind

although, delicious in it's effervescent wonder
i lick it dry as i've tried to so many times
but the "fail" in your eyes is too hard to take
i wonder how long you would let your body break
before the end

strapped and tied into this machine as it rolls "ever onward"
like the soldier you were born to be in this mess of parentheses
to calculate and disarm the "fuck" in your heart
as if dreaming up a good answer to a hard question
would fix anything

Gerkhe

twenty years of pounding the pavement
under these street lights
drilling the emphatic hole
into the unknown
in this place we've both outgrown
to go the rest of it all alone

like the time you "didn't" drink
and I looked like a fool
or the times that I tried
but I could never tell the truth
we woke up 10 years later
feeling much older and abused
tell me now, friend
where is that fountain of youth?

just let it die

Good Conversation (or a New Heresy Reformed)

death to ambiguity
death to relativism
death to transcendental meditation
death to sexuality
death to perspectivalism
death to existentialism
death to post-modernism
death to neo-feminism
death to structuralism
death to post-structuralism
death to relativism
death to the pursuit

the fountain is much smaller
than all of this
it is much smaller
than the lie
the deceit is much bigger
than a whiskey on the rocks
and some good conversation

There Will Be No Wedding

no, I've already fucked this thing up once before
tried to capitalize on my own pain
did the pious thing
stopped drinking and called it the Holy Ghost
ditched my old friends for some better ones
abandoned my brother
kicked my boys around
so they would really know
that it hurts me
far more than it hurts them

no, I can't do this all over again
I have far too much blood on my hands
besides that
you just wont understand
when you try to satisfy me
and you just can't

We Don't Die, We Transcend

this perspectival delusion
that "mine" is better than "yours"
undergirds the death of the pursuit
the "eternal becoming" or rather
this "becoming eternal"
and the possibilities
wrapped up in texts
about love, war & forgiveness
and the deities we inextricably
berrate into the meaningless void
that is philosophical depth
and width
and breadth

to Berkeley's consumption of
the mind and the realities it creates
to my friends idea that we co-create reality
with his ambiguous God
to my need for Jesus to rescue me from myself
it all points to the pursuit
and how there can never be absolutes
until this struggle becomes
absolutely clear

at this point in my life, it has all become
a relentless game of
morality
and
semantics

If Only I Read More Milton Then I Would Really Understand The Inner Workings of Human Pain

I will never
wander
the way I have
from you again
these cravings
never go
but they will
ruin this sculpture
of the almighty...

fuck it
let's drink
ourselves silly

Makin' Bank?

nothing worse than money
nothing at all
we will all die
for a paycheck
to eat
to sleep well
to not "let it get to you"

but we have survived
and we will
if only by the skin of our teeth
smiling the crooked smile
of an out of work banker
begging for the end
reinventing piety
in the form of loneliness
thinking...

"the wife and kids left when the money did
but where did my mind go?"


My guess
is that you sold it for a hamburger
and warm lite beer
and some pussy
and an early grave.

Why not sell the pace maker while you're at it?

Empathy as an Art Form or Make It Count, Motherfucker

as if the plucking of strings
or pressing down on the keys
or beating down on it
would ever change anything

as if reciting old prose
letting myself go
or pretending to kill my ego
would ever stop this from happening

but

money
hardwork
determination
fortitude
ass-kissing
phony handshakes
and
winks
and
stares of sincerity
and
emphatic laughter
and
believing
that the hereafter
is better than all of this

will make you feel safe
at last
before they put flowers
on your grave
and just like them
you whither away

Wolves

it's not
like you
can blame me
i was hungry
hadn't eaten for days
and you were the first thing i saw
it was worth it

but now that i've tasted blood
i will ne'er be free
from the lust that comes
when your bandage comes loose
and my heart races
and i come after you

now
what has become of
grace?
mercy?
goodness?

now that your flesh
is hanging by a string
and i'm sitting in a tree
smiling

Ghost Town

it's the end of an era
all of my old friends are gone
whether I've kicked them out
or they've left on their own
while the drinks I down
one by one
by the fire
are slowly sinking
deep down my throat

oh how I have tried to cling
to your heart
as it beats
the sunny days
when we used to parade
through the cracked streets
like we were at war
we were always at war

the anger trades our fond memories
for a bad day
when questions were posed
and it was thrown all away
but it's ok
I understand the misgivings
but I long to understand
the blood that was shed
on our behalf

so you write and write
like a brilliant waking
of a dirty and rotten soul
that keeps on the singing
but you need no approval from me
run to that place you belong
just know
right now
I just cannot follow

Spirit Children

Street lights
flash on my intentions
if I had been paying attention
I would not have sideswiped
that husband and his sweet wife
with cancer and a kid
I guess that's what I get

Down at the police station
I'm reading revelations
to the cops and robbers
trying to do their jobs for
the weak and the weary
this is a big city
it's too big for me

It's so ugly
the message is bloody
we were spirit children
in our home in heaven
now we're 27
and you're on your deathbed
I guess that's what you get

Enemy

i walked into the house
and you punched me in the mouth
you had told me to get out
i was only seven years old

the blood spilled from my cheeks
right on down to my teeth
you had told me i was weak
for crying

i stuttered as a child
because when i looked into your eyes
it had scared me within inches
of my life

then you choked me in my sleep
for having those bad dreams
just one more little thing you stole from me

I never wanted to be your enemy
but ever since
I could speak
you have hated me
more than anything

I never wanted to be
in your family
so instead
of cracking
my front teeth
you should have taken care of me
but you didn't care for anything

Yes, I am Blind

my heart
yes it is sick
and drunk
with
lust and malice
but now
pumps blood
that has been shed
to make this heart
drunk with
righteousness
and the doom
no longer
breathes down my throat
but He is alive
and I am dead
all over again...

Blinking LIghts

like punk
in the late 70's
this will pass
and no one will remember
who or what
you were supposed
to represent
but they will
sing songs
write books
give up much
to make known
the meaningless way
in which
you
breathe in
and
breathe out
and fall asleep
forever

Staring Deep Into Your Wilderness of Lust and Destruction

in my weakest second
i feel the shaking in my bones
like a need
to desecrate this heart
this seed
that you've given me
as it is hewn and
thrown across the room
as the images flesh
her,
sprawled across the floor
him,
fucking her senseless
this abuse becomes
a need
as I switch from screen to screen
this lust
this desire
that is robbed
from my
beautiful bride
and given
poured out
into an exhale
of this wretched relief
please, Lord
take this
unending addiction
away from me

I've Known You For Such a Long, Long Time (or Unknown)

oh, gripping to the same old
self deprecating songs we sing
scratched the key into our throats
just as the old harmony goes
and goes and goes and goes
off to the deep end, we say
to scrape out the old ways
when the blood we used to drink
and the vomit we used to hurl around the room
would make me into a fool
now it's not just me and you
and this chronological sore
that just longs to grow
but it just can't
not now
not anymore

Burning Bridges in Slow Motion

this.
warm.
embrace.
is.
laughable.
when.
all.
at.
once.
you.
have.
mistaken.
me.
for.
somebody.
that.
you.
love.

My Dream of Drowning

swimming in your STD's
and the weight that's in front of me
because you wont leave the light on
when it's time for me
to "know you"
but you spread your "knowledge"
all over town
and I'm pounding
my fists into the ground
drinking myself to sleep
I hope this time it goes deep
into the sound

Grave Danger

i awoke inside my grave
and i tried to take it back
but what forgives
will never forget
the days
when i felt
like
i was actually alive

but i never was
and neither were you
we were asleep the whole time
living in hopelessness
waiting for hope
to become
the peace
that we seek

i have truly
demonized myself
and lionized
another life

Nostalgia

yeah
lets not forget the old times
when i stabbed you in the heart
and you mocked my sincerity
when accusations flew
around
like the flies did
around our dead hearts
when we became
sick with our own judgments
just before our lives
became nothing but sorrow
we would laugh and laugh and laugh
but those good times could never last
like the
the fleeting nature of a smile
coupled with
this finite bruise
reminds us of
who we once were
and who we are definitely
not
anymore

Dragon

like the life i have wrecked
i will come running
even if it kills me
to stand with you
in you
like some cursed
sailor
trying to fight the storm
that is my heart
that i never wanted
in the first place
i only wanted
to be naked
and
coke nosed
and filthy
and completely
fucked
but your heartbeat
beats like a drum
and ruined
what i thought was my soul
and laid to waste
this crooked
mess
that has been
destroyed
by the tongue
you welded to my throat
now
at last
i will shut the fuck up
forever

We Will Become Ourselves (Finally)

isn't it about time?
time we had a lot of things
we have been searching our whole life
i don't mind my shady 1 bedroom apartment
my cat that i treat like a wife
or
my wife that treats me like a cat
this joke is a riddle now
you are my only resource
for strength
louder now
this riddle is joking around
you are my only strengthening resource
softer now
we were still cigarettes
sitting on the edge
of our own beds
with the same broken guitar
singing the same old songs
from 20 years past
we sang our "sha na na na na's"
like we really meant them
we didn't mean anything
until now
our insincerity
was marketed
only by the clothes on our backs
we loved to see you dance
in a sea of panic attacks
my paxil was never a drug
only a new way
to show you new words
for love

I Was Born a Liar

i was born a liar.
i really was.
i loved.
i swam.
i took.
i gave away.
i killed.
ideas.
only for a moment though.
i kissed her face.
she didn't run.
i smiled.
she smiled.
i laughed.
she sighed.
i died a little inside.
but in a good way.
she loved me.
in a better way.
i miss her.
we never met.
how could i forget.
something so pure.
i'm so sure.
it's all so certain.
in my mind.

Oceans of Blood

pin this deep center
where the dead men still bleed
there
where we sing
the heart-ached
back to sleep
with the good news
and there was a book
that said it was power
to save
in a sweet sweet
envelope of a whisper
tearing through your veins
to make nothing of me
and much of You
scarcely
i sit and wait
often
i sprint
for the ocean
of my own blood
thinking that
it will wash me
clean

Propitiated

like the sickness that chases
and is being chased
by me
i freely
give myself
to the grave
the inevitable
stinking
festering
shit hole
where my heart lives
where the Christs of my life
have wept
like a certainty
of the robbing of heaven
at gun point
with this gaping
hole in my stomach
bleeding this fucking filth
onto the living room floor
as this good news
that you speak
is wrecking
me

Benediction

destroy
the lines that separate
my heart
from your face
in my ashamed
disgrace
i come

This is Going to Heal...I Promise

in an effort to die
my shaking hand
holding the knife
in hopes
that this wound
could really sanctify
this sick
heart
of mine

Our State

he ruined us
you will save us
from the shit that we've wrecked
the shit that was already dead
but not you
you are alive
and you will keep us from the grave
you will help us remember
how invincible we are
we will reign supreme
we have a higher sense of self
we have no need for all those petty things
we have a Christ
and we've named him
actualized
and
tolerance
and
peace
and
social justice
and
sustainability
but it will not
sustain anything
at
all

...concerning the sons of men

it felt like a hiccup
and we were gone
only silhouettes
on a bloody lawn
just a massacre
of flesh
stomping
and
stomping
endlessly

The Jello Biafra Jesus

is bleeding to death
along with this violence
coming into existence
spitting gospels
that fade
away
just like
bad news
always
does

Sleeping With the Enemy

come on in
lie me down
and take everything
in this fucking house

in the morning...

i will be rich
i will be powerful
i will be fuckable
i will be complete

in this unforgivable pose
i take my own life
and i let you go

Passion in Your Bones

on the floor in the kitchen
was a bloody mess
the one that we left
after we took an oath
to leave home
to finally disperse
all of our final words
before the leaving of this
hole in the ground

for all the sweaty back-seats
and the skin between our teeth
and the foreign land
that we've been exiled to
for this old place
now seems new

there's this bastard in my step
but it's all i have left now
and this crooked stare
into this hopeless page
that i had at once laid to waste
my hope to swallow bourbon
and spit out a fucking miracle
that would bleed this hypothesis dry
that before we are born
we all must die

I Live in a Whores Heart Fucking Myself to Sleep

as the sweat from your forehead
drips
and syringes are buried
along with
that thing
that horrible fucking thing
i used to call my soul
and after you've plugged
every hole
this fucking thing
i just cannot bear no more
will take me
and my life away
and even on the
day you leave
i will regret
the long days by
the river
where i found a deep peace
that swells in my heart
and rips this
weaving bedroom door
and cuts through the mattress
made of my own lungs
breathing guns
made from the clay
heart
that once beat in this chest

now i get dressed
and walk out the door

Poetry is for Fags and Chicks

it seems like a pretentious novella
in the way that you entered the room
like you were exiting the womb
and you reveled in it
like the books
that go from cover to cover
and go hand in hand
with the lies
that you tell your mother
and your lover
and your wife
and your friends...

Dear God,

please tie all my loose ends

7:26

growing tired of
this frail whore
of a body
giving some
but taking
more
than ever

in this bone marrow wreck
crashing
into the sound
that glimmers
like a fucking
miracle

growing tiresome
in this cage
we called a home
just north of where
my heroes sleep
awaiting death...

...just like me