Eulogy

He died.

No fanfare, no great revelation
No seeping darkness, no blinding light

He did not see his life
nor did he witness his death

His tombstone reads
"Here lies a man"

But no the epitaph lies
Nothing rots in the earth but

A mannequin doppleganger
stretched skin and white and waxen

There is no beauty
in his death.

There is no lover
tossing herself in the grave

There is no child
asking confused questions

There is no mother
giving confused answers

The weather is mild
no tempest, nor fog, nor blazing sun

There are 4 clouds, perhaps 5
and 7 mourners, perhaps 6

There is no beauty
in his death.

No manuscript was left unwritten
for the world to ponder

No masterpiece found
in his basement, appraised for millions

No genius left scribbled
the last ejaculate of his death throes

There is no beauty
in his death.

No funeral pyre
like a final fist to the sky

No tortured multitude
carrying their great hero

No flower sprung from the
last blood along the ground.

There is no beauty
in his death.

He passed as he lived
quietly without event

We mourn here today
in likewise fashion

The service ends
his brother gives a eulogy

There is a mumble
We all go our separate ways

We will be at work tomorrow
We will keep unscathed

There is no beauty
in his death.

Night fell on the
field of graves
The silence punctuated
only by a lone engine.

I found the stone
once more in the dark.

As the man did not remain
Neither did the A

There is no beauty
in our death.

For Pennies

Let’s make this our night.

Let’s kick our good habits

and grow our bad ones in neat

rows of dandelions

and ponder what marks

weed from flower.

Let's fill a jar with memories

and dash it against the ground

when it's full so we can play

with them once more.

Let’s empty our brains

like a register full of quarters

chase them along the pavement

and roll them into neat piles

to trade for pennies.

Let’s cut holes in our pockets

and fill them with time

until the last echo of

a tick splits our emptied skulls

and drains out the nothing.

Let's rob a jeweler

and give diamonds to the homeless.

Their babbles are endless

and they've earned something for that.

Let's ink our pens with the clouds

and write odes to the sea

where they meet and watch them turn

orange then red then purple then black

then dissipate with wind.

Let's read tea leaves and palms

like books written by wise

old men with wide smiles

and wider minds.

Let's blow out the city lights,

dance with the stars,

and apologize profusely

for stepping on their toes.

Let's wash our hands with acid

and leave empty fingerprints

on likewise glasses

staining breathless lovers'

heaving antipathy

Let's play to lose

and throw the pieces

about the floor when

our plan goes awry, smiling.

Let's slowdance to anachronisms

while the ether whispers

around and between us and through us,

until it settles in us.

Let's watch the clouds

from atop a sinking city

and marvel at how the water's

lovely this time of year.

Let's fall in love

and drown together

in whichever order

the universe decides.

Let's make this our night

It may be our last.

Were

Istumbledonto

amemorytoday

Like a

neatly

folded

do

  ge

    ar

springing

from

a lost

page in

a

fa

vo

ri

te

book.

You hid (you hid playfully)

along its

ruffled

edges

but I caught

you anyway.

(Just to let you go.)