He was one of us. No sleep.
Some of his most
Innovative verse
Was better for being the worse.
Imagine the pronoun of him
Struggling to make
Sense of the wide-eyed
Misery of wakeful nights.
The pronouns gather around
The colosseum of nouns
To pronounce thumbs
Up or down, lonely in those crowds,
So few to contain every soul
That ever stared at black
Edges of innumerable stars,
These coals, them, his, us, ours.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.