and now it is a doll, presented in court,

the kind of thing you laughed at with your friends

when they lampooned it on prime time television,

and now you are shaking there,

where, and this death is a thousand times,

like taking an apple core to the wet earth,

sliding it down to produce a simple cylinder of time,

the tears and laughter compressed in to tissue thin layers of regret,

hope and a radio,

turned up too loud so the beautiful bass guitar warped to hissing,

a wasps nest prodded by a terrible, lost man.