you owe me nothing,
and i do remember but i do not recall
the fiftieth or the fortieth
the two thousand days not visited
it was at 25-10-30, a blackout,
for the reasons that we hadn't spoken
i raise a toast to nothingness
yet another toast to waste
to the heritage i carry in my genes
the despair and vast loneliness
lost in my cells, your blood in my veins
built upon crumbling walls that had fallen
brown eyes turned green and into the blue,
a man upright lost for the same pride,
as my own years, passed. There is sense
for me to know what you would have said
in that oblivion, your cleansing fire
and i shiver at the thought of
what i might owe you
i have already paid for, the four of us
15 years past and the years to come.