he boasted guns against conspiracies defying to pay the false wife and principalities who spirited
sons he would not see again we watched him whine and thrive on rides and drinks of
those attending his tale growing tall
he dropped grey flannel for camis and trolled specks of silver underground she could not touch
letting fear of releasing his rage define his days
so much he loved the chalice of frozen feelings binding him he named it principles
over lustrums never cut beard and hair greying out
until friends found him stiff in bed –
she hemmed my thin words
of the shroud
she knew