Missing Jon
March 19, 2008 by Curt
Wiferino was playing Sorry. Missing my friend Jon today.
One icy winter afternoon in Boston
Jon and I were walking off our whiskey,
Stalking angels through the Combat Zone
And proud that every thing we did was risky.
The streets were empty and our steps echoed
Off the buildings in the quiet snow.
Jon could eat as much as me, and smoke
And drink as much and talk as much or more.
My mother was a whore, he said, my father
Was a man I never met. My star
Is rising, he said, my star will never
Set. I am more beautiful with every scar.
Years later, in Atlanta, he shot up
And everything Jon Easley was just stopped.
Thanks, Curt, for a beautiful and unexpected reminder of one of the most powerful forces of nature I’ve had the distinct pleasure to call friend.
Oh, thank you for the nice comment. But let’s not get soppy. After only 2 weeks this fucker turned my sheets GRAY when I let him stay at my apartment in Seattle! WTF? But seriously folk, it was great to recite this poem at Doc’s Clock in SF where Scott T, Eric M, Elliot and Dema knew who the poem was about.