We three boys carried your words
Into days and dreams
Dad, you were a scoundrel's mirror image
Spectacularly vivid
Lavish in vibrancy
And definition
Though unavoidably
Phenomenological
Fully-dependent on the impressions
Of something previous
And actual
With passive force, was my humor crushed
As green glass
Under your steel toes
On this evening,
While the sun sets on your dusted valley
and rises in Hades,
I am called upon to weep over your ruins
And although I plead for tears
I am woefully unlearned
In such behavior
Leisurely Beatings
Published
Horrorscopes 