same dead sam

young man,

a certain piece

of metal in the lung.

of smile on the lip,

of drive across town.

takes his last breath,

one hallway from the first.

nothing will be the same,

nothing can be the same,

nothing is the same.

same as sam.

dead.

in june, the leaves are still new.

in june, the hose water runs cold.

the sky, it's late afternoon,

plants a cloud over the park.

the moon comes up later.

the neighbors watch,

then bring hotdish.

and i think.

push lungs out

real big

knock whole place down.

(i wrote this poem, sometime later, and finished it in utah.

and i give credit to scott sell, for the ending)