Poetry # 33

The paper said a man died last night
in the dawn's light
it was one last ride,
the police are calling it suicide;
he left behind a guitar
and a book of poems in a car,
also stashed with notebooks
filled with half-began hooks
and unfinished songs
(everyone sing along)--
Never knew about him,
but I want to read it again.

But, but
with ashes or a green grass grave,
I won't be brave
Either, and guts will come to an end
If I read this again.