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no one commits suicide
everyone is killed
-- Julian Beck
down beneath the blades of bluegrass
a sweet green heaven has taken root
his body pumped full of formaldehyde
and swollen like a balloon his head rises
on certain earth-moving occasions
he wonders why he is here blind and
dumbfounded by perpetual darkness
in an quiet unlit satin-lined box
death came quickly for him
with a polished gun placed firmly
against his young curly-haired head
in one quick firing the hammered bullet
raced through the warmth of his skull
where the barrel of a chrome-plated .38
was the only truth and final act of being
for my mortally-terrified little brother
Gregory Baines Ward (1964-1997) was my baby brother. He collected firearms and used them frequently. Unknown to me, Gregory
Baines also played Russian Roulette daily. It was his life's game of dare, I suppose. In the early hours of July Fourth 1998,
he lost the game after saying, "Someone is gonna die like this tonight." Gregory's medicine man spirit still travels
this land.
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