You who have died: does the last
breath peel away from the throat
in circles of orange skin,
or does it flow out easy
like a ring of smoke?
And what of the ills unresolved,
those mild interruptions of breath,
do they ease their grip in the end…
or do they tighten a Jesus
tourniquet inside the hollow chest?
I remember you said
the Beatles and Buddha rode
the same wind trotting
holographic horse
and that strings from
different instruments
arranged for the same song
never really work together
but rather compete for the
appeal of the listener’s ear.
I always thought you were
fucked up until I saw you
floating down a dark river
with your eyes to nowhere
and a smile on your face.
You sang “all you need is love”
slipping out of speech like
speaking half a mantra
in each world, and when the
song ended you never came back.
