this crowded mausoleum
say willy & michael & matt & jeremy & ian
and look at how their names become a song
see: boy stomaches an entire medicine cabinet to fill himself
see: boy becomes asteroid and lands, face first, on the interstate
see: boy origami folds his car around a tree in the forest,
or, boy is the tree and falls to the floor of a concrete jungle
and makes a sound. every time.
see how i’m the unaffected third party.
perhaps i killed them with my silence
see this smoking barrel of a tongue
say nothing about what i have seen
though nowadays funerals all feel like reunions
except in black and without the dancing.
see all this dirt on my shoes?
say i’ve got three states and a thousand miles in my soul so
i had my share of lookin’
like how we survived the mayan apocalypse
but not the knives or pills or keys
and there’s got to be a lesson in there somewhere, there being the bodies.
as if the beautiful corpses are any less dead, so goodbye i guess
to all you poets, and the words that have died along with you;
say that i miss you, my god, how i miss you all.