for Jason Molina, Neil Young, all their synonyms

some days you were an oil painting
carved like an autopsy
to flawless jigsaw organs
and pieces turned when a turned piece
was enough to make you doubt yourself

so you told your story and it turned me over
too, like shockwaves in a bubble chamber
I might've doubted as well, but you had
brightened blood like me

it was obvious before you were scraping out ashtrays
that you had a mandolin faith
on a prairieland face
I knew that when the stars aligned
that we would find each other
down with all the other jumpers
leaning into space

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