"How much for that soul by the window?"

How much?
I ask because I'm fairly certain I sold mine a while ago.

Admittedly, I drank some away;

admittedly, I gave each of those boys a piece;

truly, there’s a part in each of these poems,

and my father carries a bit

in his jacket pocket

but I shouldn't mention it.

I never seem to explain to anyone
how sometimes the matters of eternity keep me awake at night,
It's not the fear of hell or the hope of heaven
it's more of the question on everything that remains.

Eternity feels like your second bottle of beer
on a hot summer night
 just before it makes you feel bloated;

when it feels like a pit in your stomach.

So far and so long are short.

—L.