In your passing: for Alvaro

Listening to Rob Zombie.

You dug his artistry.

I bob my head compulsively.

Go figure.

And in this moment, I’m reminded.

Of your grace.

Some people have it,
you had it.

Though I never told you, it was clear
you had no intention of being graceful.

It’s just something we’re born with.

No matter the number of tattoo
that cover our skin.

No matter the loony stories
we tell ourselves to get by.

It’s sort of an unspoken connection.

And when you smiled you meant it.

When you frowned, it was for just reason.

In retrospect, our time knowing one another
was shorter than most.

And after College, we only spoke via
likes and shares.

But nonetheless, your spirit breathes on.

Like the orchestral breakdown in, The Man Who Laughs.

You did and still do inspire me.

I see this now.

So in my thanks, I know you’d just laugh
and say,

“Ah Dave! I love you, you crazy bastard!”

the polarity between real life and a college town.

I miss my former self.

A chatter-box of complaint.

Endless questions with premature answer.

Horny and mad.

Full of flowery language.

Undefined.

Chain smoking under the gun.

I miss my former self.

Like an old friend.

Like a past lover.

Like a finished book.

Like a sprained ankle.

Like a cavity.

Like film.

I miss my former self.

Arrogant.

Brooding.

Self-deluded.

Know-it-all.

Audacious.

Jerk.

I miss my former self.

Like turning 13.

Like watching Fox and Friends.

Like a one night stand.

Like romanticism.

Defined.

No longer smoking, still under the gun.

It’s the polarity between real life and a college town.