End Of A Year Eric Hall
Give me a call when your marriage dissolves.
Dial my phone when the family stalls.
Reach out for me when you've nothing at all.
I'll be reaching right back with razor-sharp claws.
Some things you can't plan.
Now attached to your head.
Brought along my drill bit.
A small hole placed in your skin:
brains spill across your desk.
Some things you can't plan.
Lips abutting your heels.
Honestly honored to be here,
in the presences of my fear:
Woman carrying life shared.
