The Prince is dead, anointed and mysterious,

poppy pills likely the blow, a set upon existence dealt,

for who he was all he knew was want, truckloads of never enough,

crouched in a foxhole, shrapnel cinders overhead,

loveliness and lovely loneliness, floating a gilded heart,

lip smack teeth taste, every eye all asparkle,

gaseous spite and ruthless desire, groundwater poison tattoo face,

too good to live, we didn’t deserve him.