My attempted failures
cover your hands
to drip a stick
between each finger
only to fill a life with safe.
Misfires shooting
dead the pilgrims of the night.
Fingers, grasping
pewter vowels
shines the Heavens.
Black like his
grows the length of your ink and
never, never,
never would she bake
your favorite pie.
Don't rush home now
Sweetheart.
The Benadryl fills the lung.
And never could you
scritch, scritch,
scratching succeed
to protect your hands above.
And fill me with the liquor
sweet, each bottle burns
in memory.
Your eulogy.
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