ON THE WAY UP
When I last saw him
he told me he was
climbing to the stars,
that he was living the
dream, that paradise
was in every breath
and that love could
never be defined
but he was ascending
a stairwell toward a
higher understanding
of being
and he was found
dead in his lonely
room,
with lonely photographs
and lonely possessions
and lonely memories,
just like the breeze,
belonging to no one
but touching us all
even
just for that pure
instant disappearing
moment of
truth.
***
From: Everyday, Somewhere, Hickathrift Press
Horror Sleaze Trash 