12

Daybreak in the afterlife is. Bright. 

And they walk like birds. All of them. 

I still make here; I still write. 

Though the sun and all the things I thought would make me do so are merely choices here. 

And poverty, poverty no more, and yet I do not drink I do not eat, 

I am not as you remembered think, 

remember when you played with Johnny loud, his drums cracking your ears and your guitar so fast so hard and that glow that feeling in your body of grainy power

that was me now in you then 

that is what we have become dear self

dear boy

so young 

you'll live so much longer than you think 

and you'll make so much longer than you think. 

The bell's ringing that means something.

There's a brass color, a gold to everything a tint. 

Anyway, I struggle to care, and so I am. I do not. 

So walking here is...weightless. They all walk like birds you see, like birds. 

Bide your time in body veil.