How can I write you goodbye
While feeling fingers on my wrist?
How can I write that I miss you
When you don’t feel missed?
How can I explain the loss
The fever and the pain that you’ve brought me?
Your family has fought me.
They thirst for my words, for my soliloquy.
They thirst to hear of everything you’ve meant to me.
I thirst for your kiss and your breath and your love—
I miss you—but that isn’t enough.
They want my tears,
my grieving of the things that we’re missing
of the ring that I’m still wearing
They’re not caring ‘bout me
They care not about you.
They care only ‘bout the sadness brought on by our youth.
A funeral is a practice of saccharine drowning.
Of comparing your frowning.
Of parading ‘cross the town
and lines of black
Would any of you visit if he were to come back?
What right do you have to mourn my Clay?
Who among you would have come to our wedding day?
How many of his precious words have any of you read?
An artist’s only worth a damn the second they fall dead.