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at the time of his assassination: two pairs of spectacles, a lens polisher, a pocket knife, a watch fob, a linen handkerchief, a brown leather wallet containing five dollars in confederate money and nine newspaper clippings that there is walt whitman's pen it sat in his hand and drank ink and whitman lay upstairs and watched the trains, fascinated by the big engines me, i'm just anxious. lincoln struck at the back of the head as if by a velvet curtain his body lists and folds, creased at the hip, and rolls to the floor beside his seat the light's gone out, but even now he's radiating heat these relics rise like steam and each disseminates, encircling like a halo down trajectory of a common crowd, simmering slammed to the back of your head you've never been hit before how can you deal with that kind of information? slammed to your chest like a curtain hits the floor how can you deal with that kind of information? From Letras Mania