john_mann raze acne scars carved your mouth into a subtle glasgow smile. not like what you see in horror films. something kinder to the eyes, with a softer heart to guide it. you cleaned the bar with your coat sleeves and laughed at marini's little man with an erection on a horse. you understood character was vinegar without the piss. as a younger man, you played around with knives. no one bled. and if they did, they didn't cry. you beat cancer only to stare down the slow erosion of your mind. stem cells and teleprompters. the last card dealt from the bottom of a dirty deck. when all your words were gone, you snapped your fingers to whatever music remained, burning new calluses into fingers half a century old. you died with the fresh stain of stout on your cracked lips, as every pale poet should. 240413 what's it to you? who go blather from