The late, Boulder poet and friend of mine, Frank Morris.
Excerpted from a version of his poem "Last Roundup":
crack open a bottle of your best overproof joy for my city wake
and guzzle deeply.
squeeze your weepy waily tears back into onions left in their crackly shells
on the pantry shelf and
go slice your whetstoned feet across
the really living room rug, then
stagger out into the
and scream out just one good
long last blood boiling holler
shattering fine crystal along the next block
just for luck as you
sing me out
footprints on the wind