A poet died, and we are all sad…

On the evening news,

through an anchor’s

beastly commentary,

tidings of a poet’s demise

were conveyed,

he wrote in a language

foreign to me,

the lanugague of my birth,

abandoned since.

He was celebrated

inside the studio,

on panels, op-eds,

and on the tongue

of a grieving widow.

He is me,

more loved,

more honored,

less dead.

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