Poem For Merry
Dedicated To A Great Friend
Author's Note: This piece is only one of a few poems I plan on publishing on this site. The friend who will be sorely missed.
Final Poem For Merry
Am I a ghost in your eyes?
In your cranium?
In your neighborhood?
In the smoke of the cigarettes of strangers who line the sidewalks
you used to walk
or in your thirst for those waters of the storming and gray seas
which you have looked into
making all your future plans?
Or I'm a just a finger print on your front window
which is dark now that your gone?
I still stagger through your waves
to find you through your back door
out on Long Island
your final show
the exit of your last design
and your escape from the undertow
which was dragging you down
since you were 16
when you danced among birth control pills
of the ward cold embrace.
You were never going to be part of the after hour scene
wading through those newspapers yellowed by the torment
of a father who dove into alcohol’s cruelest ocean.
I knew you before the sound engulfed your streets.
Even then your tongue was devastated
all your words became as downed trees from an unfelt wind
scattered and reversing course every time you spoke
wishing you could escape your body and leave your name behind.
What remained was the bitter pain
Of finding your final cries replaced
by death’s serrated laughter
where even tears lose their silent voice.
And all the good times are now just flickering projections on your far nocturnal wall
Always moving in slow motion
As if the collapse of everything you trusted was deliberate
and always seemed to belong to someone else
who knows the art of being fucked over
As if all you ever knew was this eternal night that your skin
seemed to fit so well
with a hunger which
never could be denied.
Did you think you were going to be forgotten,
as if you were a strange and obscure idol consumed by the ever ascending wilderness
Shrouding you in vines and the honey suckle which permeated from your hair?
that is the price of living in the night of the silent snow
and a soul on the take
for the treasures of a lesser majesty
You were never going to leave your ruin to anyone else
Or lend your escape to chance
as if it was your finest art at the end of your finger tips.
The snap of that rope fastened around your throat
You made sure
Cut that source off with the fierce kindness of gravity.
The light that flashed before your eyes
when you reached the end of your line
was no station
every one of your cries
and the season of the wards
becoming as one in the supernova of what once was.
in your waking hours which came
from being up far too long
did you ever consider finding a home
in the lighted room
where all your friends still gather
in your name
and where your cats still sit as witnesses to that fateful morning?