I always referred to Steve as the guy on the couch, but Steve was my mom’s friend, enabler & celestial companion.
After she passed, he claimed the living room as his own
In the center of this cosmic dust covered space station was his rocking chair that when reclined, shot him into a vortex vacuum of Judge Judy & Jerry Springer.
Suspended in an ozone layer of ciggy dust clouds, he snuggled my mom’s blind inbred pug as they both snored into the radiant depths of this astral abyss.
He only left this Star-studded dwelling to stand in front of the fridge, hairy belly out n boxers drinking milk out of the container Ohhh so Good…
Light years ago, he was a Love Canal factory worker & motorcycle drifter that pretended to know how to fix cars
It wasn’t until Steve got brain cancer that I began to understand what his birth in the crab constellation really meant. Like mercury, life is fluid & ever changing & poisonous to the touch
When we signed his DNR all he had was a meteor for a mind & all we had was his ashes
Ethereal waves shoot him into the layered darkness of forgotten Steves
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