The ants suicided;
they overdosed themselves with sugar;
their bloods thickened;
and they expired
from complicated diabetes and aneurysm.
Mourning, I brokedown and contemplated on the whys;
I was unsure
if my tears were for aching,
or I missed the ants-
coz they were with us in pink-painting the town.
Perhaps those fags–just like him–
they don’t understand what hanging on is all about.
They can’t wait ’til I cross the Mississippi River
to be with him, and assure him,
I was with him in all of our hopes and dreams. . .
. . . twice upon a time.