The Assassination of Harvey Milk
My motorcycle rumbles past the steps
Where the state told the death of the supervisor,
Where the flowers had stood for Mascone.
Like Helios in the sky, I don't stop.
Dan White, who said Twinkies explained it all,
Stood tall as he created a martyr.
Manslaughter is not the same as murder,
And if Twinkies are depression, commit me too.
Will an Oscar Wilde write their stories down?
Or like their ashes, fade into the wind.
Thief, Sick, Depressed and deranged.
Words after one's death can become so harsh.
But the truth is harsh, as it has to be.
I continue down towards Lombard Street.