There's A Saltwater Film On The Jar Of Your Ashes: I Threw Them To Sea But A

Gust Blew Them Backwards And The Sting In My Eyes

That You Then Inflicted Was Par For The Course Just As When You Were Living.



It's No Stretch To Say You Were Not Quite A Father But A Donor Of Seeds To A

Poor Single Mother That Would Raise Us Alone, We'd Never See The Money That

Went Down Your Throat

Through The Hole In Your Belly.



Thirteen Years Old In The Suburbs Of Denver

Standing In Line For Thanksgiving Dinner At The Catholic Chuch. The Servers

Wore Crosses

To Shield From The Sufferance Plauging The Others. Styrofoam Plates, Cafateria

Tables Charity Reeks Of Cheap Wine And Pity

And I'm Thinking Of You. I Do Every Year

When We Count All Our Blessings

And Wonder What We're Doing Here.



You're A Disgrace To The Concept Of Family

The Priest Won't Divulge That Fact In His Homily And I'll Stand Up And Scream

If The Mourning Remain Quiet, You Can Deck Out A Lie In A Suit But I Won't Buy

It.

I Won't Join In The Procession That's Speaking Their Peace. Using Five Dollar

Words While Praising His Integrity. And Just Cause He's Gone It Doesn't Change

The Fact: He Was A Bastard In Life Thus A Bastard In Death.