Peter
We used to sip hot chocolate
over a cocaine coloured sunrise,
before I started smoking, drinking coffee.
Waking me up at 6am like a brother,
excitedly prancing up the stairs
to the rooftop, bodies hungover,
minds bright, intelligence gleaming.
Spurting the human rights act to me,
telling me about strobe light showers.
I didn't see you jump but I felt it.
I went to the sea when you survived.
I watched you broken.
I watch them reconstruct my brother's
face, and deconstruct your soul.
I thought of you in a cocaine sunrise,
on a bike in America, probably
whipping someone's ear off with
that intelligent beautiful mind of yours.
I'm with you there, somehow.
The gravel road is in your veins.
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