I figured my headline poem today would be about Super Bowl XLVIII 48 -- Seattle Vs. Denver. Instead, the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman has my attention, and the fact that a talented actor and father of three is found dead at the age of 46 has me writing, and thinking.
Philip Seymour Hoffman
F the drug that
Rushes through your veins
Your talent is immense
But you devastate your brain
It can't compete
Our love making, babies, and walking through the park,
Your art is deep,
But it takes a back seat
To the cloud-floating
Multifaceted
Escape
Touch me, I scream
From the top of my lungs
You and us, we're here
We're real
I'm right in front of you
Yours for the taking,
But instead,
You lock yourself in the bathroom,
And stick a needle in your arm
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