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one man looks at a dying beast, and thinks there's nothing but unanswered pain. but death's got the final word. it's laughing at him. another man sees that same beast- lonely like a house, and feels the glory. feels something smiling through him.

my sweetest marcy, you've done a hell of a number on yourself. i tried everything, blasting your bed sores off with firecrackers, various tranquilizers to induce hibernation, kicking you in the face. all useless. i only wanted things to get better. they said i was running into a burning house where nobody could be saved, but i'd waited for you all my life. they asked what it was like to fuck dan aykroyd, and the laughter didn't seem to end. and for that i am sorry.

i'll never forget the night we met. there you were, ripping lids off garbage cans, gravy running down your chin. your dead bulkhead stare seemed to peer right into my heart, determined. i swerved to avoid you and ran out of gas. after that i went crazy, blind. and i write to you now at your grave, where, i only think of you and i'm very happy. thank you for everything.


IN MEMORIA

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