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Two Decades and Two Years Of Marc Ferdinand

A fizzy tongue
jutted out
and in the pall of darkness
came a light,
a smoke,
a veil of white
you dragged like a devil
with pure intentions
and savage kills

Cradling hands
coated in brass
spinning like a compass
pointing North
and lashing violently
when pirouetted

Your mouth
ballasts a cigarette
and spews smoke,
blows bubbles,
and electric words
behind the crooked teeth
is a caged multitude

You slouched
keen eyes unwavering,
steadfast like beacons
and in this sloppiness
the scars and burns
from wounds and bruises
are the only vestiges
that raised your roof beams
strong enough to share
a pallid, generous shade

Yonder the stench of licorice
or stains of nicotine
are sober constitutions
rivaling the weather
and time's conundrums -

A father,
A beau,
A comrade,
A wise man
outgrowing
the age of twenty-one.

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