In a late night fit 
Of staring-at-middle-age exercise
I rediscovered Amy Winehouse
Listening to her
And thought of her frazzled beehive
The heavy wing of her eyeliner
The wasting vining muscles of her
And how I always thought she was too skinny
Guess I was right
And that poor woman
Poor girl–I might be older than her now
Shit am I older than Amy Winehouse?
Her voice is still beautiful
Scratch and warmth on the waves
And I vow to keep listening
And to live like maybe she didn’t
But maybe wanted to
Because beauty and joy
Should live on