He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.
And that was all his patrimony.
It feels like I’ve run
out of stories to tell like
seems as though I’ve beensurprisingly successful
sleeping on the floor
I hope my soft wavering song is
the music your deaf ears are
straining for, I hope
the beat of my eyelids cues you with
the time of my heart,
shows you that it’s burning,
flickering like the candle I would
light for you.