a never ending

dole from hell

that keeps on giving,

whispering now move along,

he's gone, he's gone, he's gone.

a distant buzz transmits

through the radio,

wreathing an indecipherable blur

inside my head,

one track repeating:

he's dead, he's dead, he's dead.

Part II.

alien broadcast

from outer space-

the man you love is dead,

your longing serves no place.

the futility of eating

stares point blank from my plate,

guts eviscerated

as I contemplate

flights on the horizon

already too late.