Far as the curse is found

The ghost of death sits at Dixie and Hillsborough
perched on a curb, surveying his domain
Eight cigarette butts
A bad parking job
Traces of noise from a domestic dispute
The roar of traffic
A wincing man and a bored woman
Broken tree limbs
He hopes for a car wreck or two

But even that won’t be enough–
Death can never be happy,
Death is never enough.