I Don’t Want to Write an Eulogy

This time we’ll ride this winter out…

Maraschino cherries, in a short
glass or inked in your arm–you take

care of me when I have too much
(mostly when I’ve had too little…)

It’s like pressing against glass under
water, not enough force, no getting

through–deaf surrealism–someone
you shared a bed with will never lay

in a bedroom again, Hypnos taking
away Zeus in a ruse, black clouds

and lost lightning–We were going
to get koi fish tattoos together, I should

have done it. I should have taken
the risks you always take, for betterment,

for light… Your energy, dispersed, to some
place greater: maybe to a gusting gulf

stream wind, or a flashing meteor whose
light will be seen for centuries

across the universe…

For Eric C. Jr.

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