05-09 (Dad Died)



Buried deep inside the bungalow boredom
Where suburbia strangles strangers into sameness
A drama plays out behind the blinds

The Death of the Bard of the Bourgeois
Shaping his sickness into one last sad song

Our Nine to Five interrupted from outside time
A moment we all weren’t waiting for came
The cold horror of plain facts was upon us

Truth only heals when it isn’t hurting
What lies lays in-between, defined

We navigate old order with a rubbery realization
Our bones buffeted by his soul’s explosion
Goes unnoticed outside the force of his experience

People driving by on their way to work unaware
All of them having been there before

Free of the weight he floats on up
The marvel of the middle reaching the top
Doing it the hard way through no choice of his own

And we gathered to be around a void that once was
A Sleeping baby folding into forever

The crow came calling death in its caw
The invisible hands hammering him senseless
Fistfuls of fate thrown with murderous intent

Hurtling through space at the speed of light
He jettisons the body burning upon reentry.