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The Death of a Poet

it was quiet in the room
on the third Saturday
in April. weathermen

clamored pointlessly
about the lunar eclipse
that was to take place

in another part of the
world. a city we’d
never heard of, in a

country we’d never
seen. or see. together
at least. perhaps you

will go, alone – or with
your new lover; should
he come along. i know

that you would want
to find a quiet stretch
of road, park ‘neath a

tree, roll the rented
windows down and watch
as the same old, tired sun

rises helplessly over a parcel
of earth that you’d never
imagined. until then.


3 thoughts on “The Death of a Poet

  1. “i know

    that you would want
    to find a quiet stretch
    of road, park ‘neath a

    tree, roll the rented
    windows down”
    love finding the poems within your poems…

  2. I was thinking…

    It’s not fair to put the same thoughts on you – after all – we are so far apart, so different (and in so many ways)

    But I saw myself and my life in this piece. (it happens – so often that I just assume that I am ‘seeing things’ and then just let it be)

    I joined my man when we were young enough to still be changing…

    I see that dynamic at work here(whether it was intentional and experiential on your part or not.)

    I no longer wonder where he is nor care (we did not part sweetly) but I know that he thinks of me (that was what the restraining order was for)

    That you can express the sentiments you have done here in this piece without the anger, hate and resentment that I am used to seeing from my own personal experience brings tears to my eyes – and causes me to admire your forgiving, loving and accepting attitude and nature all the more.

    Very nice piece Michael.

    Love L.

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