annoy me no more, for i'm old.
reddened by the hands- skin gone thin.
me- my own bed stain.
every image blurred with punk fraught cut away vision.
i can cut through a cold soaked heart.
table for none.

a man's wilted father in some obscure town somewhere near a boarded up asylum was forced to drink mercury from a mason jelly jar after being robbed of his liquor cabinet and pocket change by a dangerously bored pimply youth. The old man was surrounded by anxious family who placed a plastic icon over the hospital bed and paced about with their eyes bouncing like mad hornets from their father to their Savior from their savior to their Father, taking brief puncuations to congregate in the hallway in small pairs to reach dissent of matters pertaining to whom the 1979 Chevy would go to and so on and so forth. The mercury took two months to kill the old man. That's a long time to die.