no for thursday
maybe on friday
italics just today

no
all i could yell over the train ripping into my head
screaming the message 'Carl isn't dead'
until i rose from his ashes with the verhilance of blood
and confessed from dusk till morning
that i could deny no longer
so i reconciled to mourn with them all by my side
the emotional laugh of a grieving remembrance
followed by the group in a howl of unsurpressed agony
'dear Carl, such a gorgeous boy'
as we turned John to loud, ascending, we thought
endlessly
and in the dream he woke her with a shock
his smiling cheaky face after a meandering prayer
a prayer that wherever he were, wherever a heaven sated his desires;
he was in a place of Love, where love seeketh Carl out, if not to please/

no no no no, won't help anything at all
an accidental reminder, for me personally of the sacredy of life
this Carl taught me, in a way too dramatic for words
but it was a lesson he promised to give, if not in life, but in death

and for me and "us" he would threaten not to see me, the morning after we'd speak, if i hadn't had a bite to eat
he took both my hands one afternoon at degraves and squeezed the feeling out of them proclaiming
"you have to go to sweden and i will do all i can

the afternoon following the day Carl Stok died, i received a call informing me i shall most likely be flying to sweden these coming months.

when words fail