Always too much too fast,
Heavy finds himself again in the toss.
The father of the last one had,
tho he dare not say, for social graces,
too little respect for the once self-anointed boy.
But the daughter was nice, fragile, star-lit.
And Heavy, being just what he is, or may be,
continued on without her after, sulking, and sad.
But often in the waking hours,
Heavy looks for an escape that may,
if nothing else,
undo it all, save for the first few frolics.
Before he had done the damage,
before the silence that comes in,
never finding its way back out.
But, so goes the world, of tattooed beauties,
chocolate milk, and air conditioner fires.
It seems now for Heavy
the constant hunger is never satisfied. 
And scribbling repeatedly-
I am so sorry.
He takes himself (considerably) away.