Thank you, Mr. Tweedy, for:

his goal in life was
to be an echo
the type of sound that falls around and then back down
like a feather
but in the deep chrome canyons
of the loudest manhattans
no one could hear him
or anything…

He slept in the mountains
in a sleeping bag underneath the stars
he would lie awake and count them
but the great fountain spray
of the great milky way
would never let him
die alone

(so he said)
remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird