For Chris Cornell
With pen and ink, blood and bone, I proclaim:
“We’ve been living like études, short, fast, hard.
(Rock and roll, baby!) Sex, drugs, magic, fame:
We devour them, laugh and push things too far
(but never too too far, until we do,
Until life becomes stacatto and we
Trade microphones for shotgun barrels.) You
Made it past twenty-seven, thirty-three,
And we thought if you didn’t die strung out
On a cross, you’d live forever. But no
One does. We just get that one time around,
And if that doesn’t do it, what will? So.
Here I go, cataloging in sutures
The coronation of King No Future