Elegy for Chris Cornell by Justin Karcher
When I wake up in the garden
All the flowers are screaming
And the sun has a giant hole in it
Chris Cornell is dead
I gouge my eyes out
And give them to the sun
To use as catheters
So it stops dripping everywhere
The sun pisses into my brain
And I have visions of volcanic eruptions
That have happened all over the earth
Anger burning out the roots
There’s a Vesuvius of sex offenders
Skiing down slopes of ash
Straight into the bedrooms of mouthless cheerleaders
Who have nothing to cheer about
Mount St. Helens has had too much to drink
Vomiting syringes and guitars into the air
Straight into the bedrooms of angels
Who are sick of trying to slit their wrists with feathers
When I crawl out of the sun’s blowhole
I wipe a whale of ash off my face
And pluck any flowers still smiling
Times are gone for honest men
About the Author:
Justin Karcher is the author of Tailgating at the Gates of Hell from Ghost City Press, https://ghostcitypress.com/