Sonnet for Angelo Monterosa

Monterosa, your body is dead on Avenue A. Angelo, They found you eyes open staring at the beer Soaked floorboards. Did you want that? Did You mind them filling your back with buckshot? Angelo, I am angry with them all, and you Monterosa Killed and killers, killing and dealing dope. No good You were, no good they are. Still, I wish their fate To be bodies stacking under the same blue smoke. Monterosa, there is blood on your song, blood on the juke Box. The cowbell, the conga, and your corpse form the trio That is the rhinestone pin of my failure, your failure, Our failure, who loved, but did not rescue Angelo. Angel, hold him, while I bury him in these clean words, And pray to see the resurrection of the rose mountain.