Anticipating it, like death is chasing, from cradle to casket, into the grave. We loved best we knew how, no damn training, it came naturally. Half at all times, foot to the floor, smoke filled lungs. We outgrew leadership. We lusted for powers. A soul became a friend, a needed experience, on a late night, filled with vehemence, one game too many. I visit his grave; it’s been some time, moving like water, maneuvering like foxes, listening to old music. I enter traffic, I reminisce, doing 70 mph. It was cruel, the crudeness of existence, the good die young. It doesn’t make sense; despite degrees, we seem to use wisdom to pacify ourselves. Fraught by a desire, to have existence, in a game made of trust. I fell out with many. It must be me. It kept happening. I figure you watch, seated on high, hoping against hopes. We miss you, the glue to the crevices, the match to the fire, the water to the baptism. Life is changing. Love is nuance or commodity. You have a niece. Indeed, I keep floating, looking at all times, or not quite caring.
