For Grant
Spineless boy
I laughed with
the head mocker,
jackal,
who danced with words
spewing tar
on you, innocent,
barratonist.
The smooth low
tones of the jazz cats’
spinal chord.
I laughed though
building regret.
my trombone
missing
crucial beats.
Vital apologies.
A Sicilian funeral
march follows
a procession of mourners
clad in black
walking over dry rocks
regretting forward
momentum.
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