Tawny

Your place in the sun that shitty apartment where your friends are

That space you can run to rather than address the test to your rot

A place in the ground plywood casket next to loved ones

That space that you’re found bloated off-white blue in two feet of mud

Tragedy is comedy minus yourself

A tawny pale glow

Headlights in a ditch below

AM on route 32

Guard rail in the shape of bloom

Now here’s some bad news when you’re pressed your friends peel off from you

Add some sad news when you’re pressed your friends catch a case of self-interest

Your building burns in the distance

Your loved ones arrive

To watch from the hoods of their cars

They lower the radio to listen to you die

Your lonely gravesite nobody visits in the daylight

For fear your name might expose what we already know about those

Sonsovbitches who only tell but never show

A tawny pale glow

Headlights in a ditch below

AM on route 32

Guard rail in the shape of bloom

When they come for the show

The headlines read like a joke

Tragedy is comedy when it’s someone else

Let’s laugh ourselves to death

I still find it funny

Let’s laugh ourselves to death

I can’t help myself and I won’t try