no more phone calls at 3:40 AM
Johnny Boy is dead
he was my friend
"my best friend" I called him
back many many times
it is the season of death
at last; it is also spring and irony sits panting
John panted and slurred
like a teeny toad pasted on my front door
within my fingers' withering reach
a never-large circle of friends
shrinking to a dot, you recall
how TVs once shut down?