Mar 27, 2014
Three Poems
◦ ◦ ◦ The Felicitations Were Coming to an End The food was abstract and well apportioned. The band little more than a collection of stools arranged on a makeshift stage. Something rustles beneath the parchment; a distant gentry scans his vast estate, vermin and doo-dads ducking beneath the immaculate lawns. I awoke alive and in terrible pain. I was waiting for an angelic messenger to tell me I wasn’t drunk, that we wouldn’t always be alone. It was OK to be afraid. The people I loved would never really be dead.