Death is knocking back
drinks with
Hemingway
lurking around
shiny switchblade corners
slippery jackknife turns
rotting on the side
of the road
stalking like a jilted lover
stillborn under
harsh florescent lights
the topic of
a 3am phone call
pictures in the hallway
brain cells after a
good long binge
a cop
a crook
a clerk
a gun
a stone
a bomb
a bone
a dream
a revelation
a destination
a culmination
of every thing
and no thing
the bitter understanding
that whichever path
we choose
will lead us
to the same
kind of
nothing
hammarblog 