My friends' names live on walls.

Sammy, that kid from Houston, was fucked
up on hash the night the rounds came in.

Pyter froze to death as a hero
of the motherland defending Leningrad---drunk
on bad vodka to keep warm.

Klaus died in some North African hell
worshipping a twisted cross
and the fermented grapes he made with
brake fluid. He didn't hear the bullet
like they do in movies.

Kim Luck hit a live mortar
digging for his kimchi pots.

Tony's name went on the wall when he
answered a domestic disturbance call at
4 am in Queens.

Steve bought his six square inches trying to pull
a baby from a Devil's Night blaze.

Mandy got hit by a goddamn drunk at 2 in the
afternoon on her way home from school. The new
wing is in her name.