Funeral of poetry
We are gathered here today to …
I see Carolyn Forche paying her last respects. Wearing a black dress and accompanied by the Colonel. Russell Edson in the back munching on some ape. Hey I’m not judging. Weirdo.
How would you have described yourself? Can’t. But I know it when I see it. Four weeks of aesthetic confusion jumbled my brain. Big words at a premium – hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia. Damn it. I still suck.
You had all of us wrapped around your finger only to let go. Your time has passed. A decision from the big boss in the sky. Line breaks, rhythm, repetition – they couldn’t save you. Now 6 feet separate us. We’ll move on, but everyone will remember your name.
…and now the short story has something to say…
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