Out of the blue
wild disquiet of yonder –
a howl at the moon, and he’s free.
Smiling graveyard ghouls
rub their backs against fate’s railings,
itching to get their hands on him.
They’ll verify his visions.
A death in our family –
a chill fact, delivered.
This matter-of-fact detail,
so minor in the cosmos,
is major.
Words fail me –
they choke in my throat.
The news, such sad news,
constricts the avenue.
The boulevard is empty.
Home shutters are drawn.
Over the mall, a grim pall.
Streets shuffle closer,
crowded with ghosts’ burdens
in the murk of mystery.
The pulse of our lives has flattened.
In the room, on the bed, in my head
lies a Poet.
His heart and his words stilled forever.
Still, forever they’ll beat
in my head, in my heart, in my words.
Another poet –
touched by his spirit.
He has passed the ghouls and the ghosts,
singing the darkly poetic.
Ascending.
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