writing my friend's
eulogy dead man dead man
his body double shot
of bourbon casket strength
in AZ asks
are the leaves here
where I am
all high
in the treetops
in skin tight red
and yellow camo
like floozies like
his groupies like light
line dancing
as they fall baby
baby baby
hit me one more time
death in the air Halloween
in the bag man
he said
it was hard to die
the music hard
rock pulverized to grit
like chips
off the old block his skin
lost to grindstone
the sky's wheel
towards granite and gypsum
the hard times ahead
hard in the ground
The Sunday Muse
Miz Quickly
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qbit 
I need a shot of Maker’s Mark after this …. brilliant gems, those words/phrases scattered about … too many to gather, to choose. I want them all. Hit me baby one more time. (Breathless I am.)
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Please send around that Maker’s Mark! Thank you!
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I just happen to have some!
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Phrases like falling leaves. Gorgeous. Liked “ the sky’s wheel towards granite and gypsum”.
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Thank you!
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I need a shot of whiskey after reading this. So much to love ” yellow camo like floozies” Your ending, the grinding finale leaves me with wow! Great writing/!
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Thank you!
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From the sandbag weight of that first stanza this just knocks me off balance keeps me on that edge. Vivid.
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Thanks!
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I’ve been a distillery that makes bourbon. I like their brand of cream bourbon.
Such fine words… we drink them in and wait for the slow burn.
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As always, your word craft is brilliant Qbit & that last stanza is a powerful punch to end with!
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Thank you so much!
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each stanza gorgeously gritty with pathos and each tumbles smoothly into the next like good whisky in the Fall
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Thank you!!
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Wow! What a stunner this is! This hit me like song lyrics straight off the fabulously grainy LPs of my early childhood. Whew.
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Thank you!!!
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“Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin’/ I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow”. None of us do, but one could not ask for a better remembrance than this poem. The quivering meat wheel in the sky turns for thee, they say, and I am lucky to have survived my boozy 20’s–luckily I had an older wiser man-type person looking out for me in those days or I probably wouldn’t have. Every day I am slightly stunned to have arrived on these calm sober shores where I can sing myself and celebrate myself and enjoy poetry like yours.
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Thanks! Yes, amazed my raft made it shooting those class 7 white album rapids.
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