A writer died once

A writer died once

he wrote the most beautiful prose

and then walked straight

into the path of an oncoming train

they had to assemble him

to cremate him properly

they couldn’t find all the parts though

his right foot was dragged

a good mile or two

along with page 173 of his manuscript

which read

“the makers of beautiful things

must die to allow others to

see their beauty, unadulterated by

the failings of men of flesh and blood,

for men are never quite so luminous.”

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