Grief is coming on like a sneeze

no flu, no sickness

aching tooth bit stone

I am long gone and perfect

somewhere without 

intelligence

little music the rain

vague and sweaty crowds  

the end of things forgotten

the sound of someone destroyed

brakes of a train

drops of vinegar

we keep going

then we disappear

nothing personal

Max Hamilton is a poet living in Ridgewood, New York.