The flags are still flying
at half mast
Everything seems
to be sagging
One time Isabella called me
'concave'
I agreed and made note
of it
I am standing in a
field looking up at a
helicopter
From almost sea level
it looks like a
gra**hopper
Recalling the snaps
we smiled in
we could be together
but this is not a love poem
This is an elaboration
on another obsessed
tragedy
Every tome will bear
the stamp
Your Eyes
Let my skull be
an apple
Take a bite and
spit it out
Have you known me
or have you not?