Unshaved bristled face cigarette between both lips

In fake silk bath robe and creaking rocking chair near sturdy walking stick he sat

Back and forth forward and backward trail of smoke rose from nostrils and lips

Chair creaked to tune of blueberry hill

But mind listened to beating of heart and rasping of throat

He scratched his face and grimaced because it’s not too long now

Back on bed he’ll soon be dead priest above

Bombarding hellfire speech

The blood seethes and boils why did you not give up that lewd that impure

Oh, thought he, I could have lived and loved

If this growth didn’t spread like warm yeast and flour rising bread

Clicking clacking heart against black bones

Tip tap my cane as creak crack back I stand

Back hurts groan escapes mouth

Ashes fall to floor

Click tap face slap—tired

But awake enough

Its just a trifle

A small thing

To go into the closet, behind the coats

Load and then press finger

I won’t even hear the click of the rifle

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joyce helped with hellfire, one line is his

i dont mind smoking, do it myself time to time

he was probably just old and sad