Work Text:
and what is that supposed to be
Not quite this and not quite that,
Mulling over the labels in your head,
Please no one with your pitiful plights.
Friend, yes, brother but bloodless,
Listening loosely, holding hands.
Sit on his grave, lean on the lapis,
Talk to the sky and hope he's hearing.
He is, he is.
He's going and gone.
He has no word.
He is, he is.