Delve into the

Deathly by BCCJ

There in the corner stands death, a preppy fellow at that,

Just happy being death, kinda fucking jaunty

And he is really the only one at the gathering that I didn’t want to strangle so I walked

Trying to reach the corner, that intersection where walls meet

but either my legs were failing me or I had underestimated the distance.

He had a match in his hand, picking its teeth with the raw conclusion

Wine so thick, a viscosity akin to oil, yet Reach him I could not—

The vino in a cup without a saucer. From where do you come sir?

But no noise.

Then I must be asleep

Stopping at the bathroom which fortunately was gender fluid

I had a find a place a place to find a cup: to look of him.

The glossy second three was the best

In a wardrobe or closet

But it’s the best when one

Can here the snorting life in and around you.

One, two, three, four, quick check, then come the frenzy

For which my Dolce Gabbana keeners would not make the cut.

Oh, the man. I screamed silently and happily walked toward him a more

“I long recognized the ghoul. It was I And Hope is written across the side, in a faded Gothic script.”

And Death cannot abide Hope.

So, we belly crawl toward the man who won’t be

The juxtaposition of walls that won’t come

And the trail of lovers behind my lurching

And it seems another common

Another lovely day

Spend not your days in cool retreat my love

But ride the bitch hard,

Put veins in her eyes

You were a born the right color.

out of that cup read it aloud at breakfast, long ago.

What kind of beings are they then, who finally must be scared away by poison?

Otherwise would they stay here? Would they keep chewing so foolishly on their own frustration? The hard present moment must be pulled out of them, like a set of false teeth. Then they mumble. Then they go on mumbling. . .

O falling star, once seen into from a bridge—: Not to forget you. To endure.