Canto CLXXVIII

The dead. I fuckin’ love ’em. They’re better
than us at everything, good or bad.
Even the sombre numerals and letters

carved on a lackwit’s grave, covered with weeds,
still hold a gravity that we can’t match,
no matter how considerable our deeds.

You don’t agree with all this? Kid, just watch
some half forgotten actress pop her clogs
and see the populace forget the stretch

of mawkish TV movie dialogues
from cookie cutter, penny-per word hacks
as they proclaim her greatness on their blogs.

The dead don’t spam me, nor do they break
my concentration as I try to write,
they sometimes haunt my dreams but when I wake

they head back to their distant, shadowed seats
to quietly look on my words and moves.
I’d choose their company, both day and night

in place of mouth and nose breathers like you.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Feb 26, 2012 @ 14:46:08

    The last Stanza…be careful what you wish for.

    I liked the idea of cookie cutter, penny-per word hacks spinning out mawkish epitaphs to fill column inches.

    Reply

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