FITTING TRIBUTE. The poem: “Hypothetical Self-Epitaph”: “What if I just caved in, gave out, pulled over to the side of the road of life, expired like an old driver’s license? “You might say He didn’t ...

and bullies at gas stations cracking their knuckles. And now, now that every trigger finger is itchy, you’re going out like an exorcised Liberace. Hectic, comedic, toxic, alone, a flaming meringue on ...