There's a dog that sits at the end of my street, 
He snarls his teeth when we walk, 
He barks with his eyes wide open,
With his eyes full of rage and love. 

Dear Anthony Bourdain 

somewhere between the time you died and the time you lived 

i found a part of myself in the words you spoke 

[This is a reposted edited version of a previous poem of mine.]

when all we have is spent–

what will we have left?

people once before us–