My friend, blood shaking my heart  

The awful daring of a moment’s surrender  

Which an age of prudence can never retract  

By this, and this only, we have existed

Which is not to be found in our obituaries  

Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider  

Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor  

In our empty rooms

A night that ends with nightmares. A day that begins with chocolate milk and marlboro reds.

“No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.”