see you soon

my favorite night is halloween

goblins come out dressed in green

but i never forget the story told

about the twenty-three year old

who died at night upon this day

every artist loses his way

 

there’s vomit and no one to hold your hand

 

everyone wants a clear conscience

except the artist

he/she just wants someone to understand

we cannot be the color of demand

 

for a moment they trace the grace

with an embrace

and a hug never felt so good

but every sacrificial fire

starts with burning wood

 

and at the end of winter

ashes are discarded

 

artists need to do more than bleed

but blood sustains the vampires

and leeches

 

so we give them from our need

artists are hungry

please feed

invite us to the banquet of love

 

if we fix our own dinner

we just find ourselves getting thinner

amid the needles and shot glasses

and whatever else is available

 

till we’re under the table

or on sidewalks enslaved

call it a memorial

it’s still just a grave

 

it's how the artist spells relief

death’s not a thief

 

if you’re not an artist

you genuinely won’t understand

the language of our foreign land

 

you’ll offer advice

once, maybe twice

but artists die as they lived

hoping you will forgive

their existence

 

(i light a candle for you every halloween for you River)

 

***