Monday, April 23, 2007

My friend T Clear pointed me to this really fun poem on Slate:

"Death's Doorman"
By Daniel Bosch

Would this be ambience, or atmosphere?
I hadn't expected such an emptiness!
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººAn empty nest.
Do you open up before or after a good pandering?
Book, Web site, infomercial. Edginess must be catching.
So let me be the first to congratulate—
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººToo late.
What is it people seek in your utterances?
ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººOther answers.
You knew Mozart. Before he decomposed—
ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººHe composed.
And Freud was your plumber. Conscious or unconscious?
ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººKein Anschluss.
But have you ever crossed over? You know, necrophilia?
Celebrities! They run to sarcasm.
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººOur chasm.
How do you do it? I'm already way off course.
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººOf course.
Is that really his door? How does he like his irony?
I still sneeze when I hear a twenty-one-gun salute.
What would you do if you came to a precipice?
What can I say to my grandkids that's not uncool?
Have you any plans for your obsolescence?
And not a single kind word for posterity?
Well, you know what they say about the calendar.
How will I know when I reach you?
ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººI eat you.
So you, too, yearn for closure?
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººOh, sure.


Oh, how I wish I had written this!

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