Requiem for a Friend of Icarus (and Bill)

What more can you give the world than your story?

Conquered waterfalls — bliss, then pivot — air of ineffable heaviness as you levitate in disbelief, defiance of the clarity

of rain, of gravity’s cruel reign over spirit, over will, when spirit yields, wings melt but hope proffers a thin rope taut across canyon,

unraveling under ceaseless scissors, taunting ratchety teeth, of loss, of hauntings, water wheels of wagons circling

over magnetic abyss — free

(fall).

I wrote this as a belated tribute to Matthew Perry, a man whose laughter we knew years ago, but his pain not until the 2022 release of the memoir Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing.

In an interview with Tom Power that year, Perry said he “would like to be remembered as somebody who lived well, loved well, was a seeker. And his paramount thing is that he wants to help people.”

Actor Hank Azaria told of how Perry personally brought him to AA meetings and “helped me get sober.”

The twelfth and final principle (or virtue) of AA is Service.

Perry’s death quashed his hopes for sustained sobriety, much less the chance to guide others individually on the path to recovery — but I consider his memoir, his open discussion of addiction and sharing of his story, as an act of service to society.

His wings may have melted as he soared to great heights, but I hope his landing was easy and he finds peace in the sea.

Thanks for reading. You can find more of my poetry here.