for terry winch I blind in the spraysharpen my antennaeagainst roulettein the beginningthere’s nothing to gaspsome dim someoxen blooda prince nezlike wax on the wingcondemned to deathyou fell like a fallen sonvirtually drownII from the other side it looks like thisat the movies the shadow knowsthe longer you look over your shoulderthe longer you shake a shadelike a slip on the windowpanethe double more original than the originalthe stranger you carry insideIII she’s gone mantisthorns for my crowna kind executionerI’m decapitatedhollow at the gallowswith all your cousinsstrung on a line like fishIV do not drink the bloodthat induces truthful speechmeet my old ladymy skilled person sliced in twolove is a place and a timeit’s not these shadow peopleit’s in the requesttell me nothingbe quietV from the cityvia the main linestation to stationseen but not seendear old auntie geraldinetorched the bishopdove into the sealynn, lynn, city of sinyou never come outthe way you went inVI digging graves for old scratchI walk to the cornerfor a cup of joefrank and ted at my sideat the countersofa jerkinggeorge pops upgo away georgewe don’t want anyeileen has six centsa sixth senseshe makes exact changewipes my face like a vermeerringing me upVII at the amusement parkpeople grow two headsyou fell and scraped your kneesif it’s no Coney Island of the minddrink a bottle of turpentineto counteract the radiationVIII dear tightassshe took you downshe takes her purseshatters this fourth walland scatters on the floorthis obscure youno longer hiddenno longer insideIX harboring this otherjoy unseen seenyou look in the mirroryou need a spy for your spyno one to see your splashmuddy at the elbowsX take another suntanin a nuclear fountainbless your throatwith an orange boyyou gamble your clothesand you are forsakenXI the day you blew upwith your peepsyou must suffocateyour favorite scarfa neck tourniquetXII upload her iconpurified by sorrowher gift is deathto die at the right timefor christ’s sakeanother chloroformXIII         XIVto persist in this holeemptied of tearsI cannot see my deathburied to myselfyet there isthere isthere isXVa stay of executionliver shot through with lightcask and casket emptieddear father penicillinyou saved another bastardand I ascendstill stinking of deathyou flickyou flame____Fitz Fitzgerald is a poet living in Baltimore. His poetry has appeared in Boog City, Dusie, Octopus, Artichoke Haircut, and Everyday Genius.