my cardiologist got stock in McDonald's and he's shooting at God to start the race his starter pistol aimed at the heavy ashes that fill my big brother's urn on a mantle that is now safely far enough from the mills smokestack the tower that glows in blackness and fills the grey nights sky above a river that just keeps on rushin' by the young man's eyes grew cat-like in the dark, he felt his way to the back door and into a sort of teenage oblivion from then on I knew through cuts from paper letters, sweat and his headboard knockin', his life was ripe with an abundance his and her own kind of love their subjects pinned to a mattress, where they gave their own alchemy to a single moment to live inside forever or for no time at all his hips and her ankles dangled in front of God like a winning lottery ticket the thrust and a knock on the wall where a portrait of their innocence falls in slow motion it twirls to the linoleum enough to spin my prying head like a hurricane in the Gravitron with boyish wonder and excitement tongue dangling from my jowls ear cupped to the wall he often fed his appetite for mayhem in the days when I let mine starve, then he dragged me to the waters of carnage and ducked my head to fill my lungs we all rode in a long black Cadillac that followed behind a hearse I was filled with regret for all the times I'd said "God, I wish I was dead..." or for how I wished it was easier for him to read, than it was for me to sing
Hell yeah Matthew! I'm proud of you. Keep trying to be true to yourself. Love you man