this
afternoon
there was a garden
without words

it was true
the roses
were dying

yet the green
was liquid
and velvet

and you
could feel
the air
breathe

this afternoon
ron
held up
his ghost
and i
watched him
guide it
away

he read the homework
the shelter gave him
he was drinking
but he was
making moves
first time
in twenty years

ron
in the garden
with the cops
and the crackheads
the sheltered few
yet i hung with ron
until hunger held sway
instead im writing
instead of eating
and ron fired up
a ghostcycle
straight
from
his boyhood
in texas
to vietnam
and now a drunk
but my best friend
but keeping appointments
trying to get
his shiit
together

on the silver cross
around who he talked about
where it goes
and when
it comes together
its true
pain follows
but yesterdays
are filled with nothing
ron
my homie

This was great Jimz...

I hear ya
Homie!

cool, you two, are cool

My Museeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
I have missed you