there but for the grace of god ...

for Marcel

and so you died four hundred miles from home
the only home your broken mind remembered
your drugged incontinent body falling over

back in the clutches of savvy legatees
leaving your lucid paintings on those walls
that so long framed your daily shrinking world

no real surprise there my dog could have foreseen
the consequence of your pre-planned eviction
your problem was the blank spots in your soul

which soared like solar flares in their sad darkness
who cannot fix on individual worth -
only vague notions of the masses matter