communal mourning
whenever some big artist dies
i know that in a few days’ time they’ll be at it
the writers and the writer magazines
send us your tributes
poems, fiction, short stories
memories, essays, what-have-you
they all want to get in on the act
it makes sense some of the time
artists are the closest we get to honest saints
they also come the closest to complete and utter charlatans
and would probably win that race
if it weren’t for the religious and for politicians
i guess it makes people feel better
to get their emotions out that way
one poem next to one poem next to a short story
next to flash fiction next to someone’s essay
about their first date coupled with an artist’s rendition
of the dearly departed and irreplaceable genius
communal mourning by way of publication credits
although sometimes i wish these writers wouldn’t do this
sometimes reading ten to twenty to thirty pieces
of mostly mediocre writing about the same dead horse
lessens the value of what we’ve lost
this over saturation of emotion feels artificial
and has the completely opposite effect of its intent
one so easily tires of the word genius
i wish that i was
smart enough
or articulate enough to pen an essay
telling everyone to stop
but i know no one would listen to me
so i think when the next big one goes
i’m not even going to bother with those tribute issues
i’ll read my grocery list instead
because i honestly don’t care if you got your knob waxed
in the back seat of a car to a bowie song
or if your fat ass lost the girl of your dreams
while listening to prince
and neither, probably,
did they.
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