There's a suicide note that hasn't been written. But the fingertips already know it. It'll be the easiest ink in the world.
When people read it...certain people. When certain people read it, they'll notice she's not there. Because I don't have words for her. She is transcendent. I'll remember her voice and laugh. Her soft middle. Her winter coat. And it won't be on the page because it's coming with me. So when the Guardian of Forever asks me what I did of value during my life, I'll have my proof readily available.
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God grant me beer to accept the things I cannot change, beer to change the things I can, and beer to know the difference.
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soundcloud.com/chris-norwood-14
The rough-hewn etch of your new-chosen name
Stenciled high in relief through the dark wood frame
Of the lacquered, old picnic table I knead with my knuckles.
The sandwich shop that we couldn't afford.
Liquor in a bag and the dog next door.
Reminded me, all, of a time when I honestly loved ya.
But I did what I do.
And you
You shaved your head.
And we both brushed our reasons off our shoulders.
I'm a shelter-shed, I'm a hospital bed,
If you're fallin' in love, you must be nearly dead.
Or maybe you just like cuttin' against the grain.
She fights off migraines with her off-color jokes and casual smokes.
She prefers to have her self-assessment unaided by strangers.
Freckles and a dress she wears like a blessing from god.
Yeah, fingers and lashes and toes all top of the line.
But they cat and they call.
And she
Loses her mind.
She cannot find a way to break the pattern.
Well, keep the passion raw, keep a strong lower jaw,
Drag a fist through the mist from which the demons draw.
But, most of all, keep cuttin' cuttin' cuttin' against the grain.
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Eventually you realize that everything has poetry in it. No matter how hard you try.
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Better to win with no stain of dishonor
than to overthrow justice by violent means,
or the odious uses of power.
When mortals learn they can triumph
over justice, the victory's
sweet for a moment, but then
it withers and reproaches the guilty,
soon bringing disgrace to his house.
This is the life that I praise and esteem,
the life to which I aspire
- to wield no power in public or private
that goes beyond justice's bounds.
Euripedes from Andromache
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