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Bee Hive Ski Race

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This dog was dead on arrival
Sound of his clipped quick
Some say a prodromal spiral
Wax and wane of the wick
His eye as black as a bible
Caught in the median
Tacoma crashed with a handle
Level of urgency, Immediate
Auto-da-fé
Auto-da-fé
You take what you're given
And give what you take
F*ck
Was what I had not enough
Cast the words from your mouth
To hook the right shape in
In the hour of our consummate
May we be forgiven
For all our petty
Stupid
Childish
Faults
Tragedy struck and creased my hand
My palm lines ran like sinking sand
As I watched the apples fall
Just like the smoke slept bees
Not far from me
As the building pyre grew higher and higher
Across the street they watched on in silence
Our only audience
Where our favorite art was once made
In memoriam white rain
You could hear our tomb whistle and sing
Haunting what it once touched
Asking if it was good enough
Paging backwards and forwards through Scene
But not reading anything
Divine platonic madness
Supine crying on a mattress
My fate came with an untimely asterisk
Toeing the precarious line
Between real and realized
And asking back if I ever even was alive
I know what I know, and I know unknowns
But like Rumsfeld had felt
Blindly searching for a bludgeon to help
And liberate you our god-damned selves
In the next life
Maybe they'll sort us out
On the come down
The concrete went from white to red
Now a wet warm spot
Glowing on my head
I can feel me ascend
The dross burn from this bed
I've made
Where the dogs lay
Made it back in one piece
But what piece of me is left
Enough to bargain with
Or lose my fucking grip
Confusing lesser and greater than
For no signs of an exit plan
And too slow of a drawing hand
Not all dogs go
To heaven

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