The service consisted of
"address in the stars"
and "free bird"—
a sea of Scorpions and
Pagans on motorcycles
surrounded the building
and damn right I jumped
on the back of one with
an old man in a Scorpions
vest and it was the most
beautiful ride of my
life. I stretched my
hands out like Jesus
as I rode helmetless
in my funeral dress
down 41 and
I felt like Andy.
I felt like the rest
of us who didn't make
it—free as a bird.
And now I know that
symbols and metaphors
are the way because I
do believe those doves
we released flew to him
and I do believe he felt
the small touch of uncle
Carl's fingers along the
rim of the casket. Call
me stupid, but there's
no other way. I now
believe in the
metaphorical heart.
Grandma was ashamed of the
motorcycles because her
filthy rich brother made
a comment about us "Turners"
and our motorcycles. I told
her to tell that 76 year
old slice of class to
kiss
her
ass.
Today
is about
Andy.
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