No Man's Path to Heaven

Deathbeds. Tombs for centuries. Fires and shootings wait for no man.

Most men are scared, Most men.

Not me, not us they say. Glass in skin, teeth on bone. God and cop, teeth on bone.

My exploration of violence, it’s all funerals, insurance fires, connective tissue.

Terminal lucidity, monumental clarity. Though I still can’t fucking grip.

Old sins, insignificance. It’s all funerals.

Gods and cops, it’s all funerals.