time has slain him
his body hangs over its
cruel line like
laundry dry
born a nuclear boy
he always hoped for
a striking finish
some fireworks
or at the very least
a mushroom cloud
he sought adventure
fame and fortune
‘round every corner
every nook and cranny
he left uncovered
he made himself a poet
a nomad
a locksmith
a shipwright of the soul
he ate
drank
worked
fucked
sailed
rode
smoked
shot
wrote
painted
spoke
morphed
kissed
drank
he knew
read
built
watched
traveled
understood
overthrew
wept
laughed
sacrificed
pushed himself
he did everything
anything he could
and it meant
nothing
