Bare Metal Install
       

Someone somewhere sits alone in a house
Who would probably rather be someone or somewhere else
And considers the difference between alone and lonely
While brushing her hair or pouring another cup
Thinking of a lover of indeterminate nature
The Sphinx which survives one more day wears away
Doesn't mind the thought of vanishing
and is sand is sand in the end
The Death of the Author is no big deal to an author
Out at the pond a frog leaps even though no one passes by
The conference continues and the attendees
Exchange applause for inspiration
This by all reckoning is an economy less concerned
With making than with the made
The made being the dearly departed and on the shelf
And thus worthy (let's be clear) of being bought
The God that loves you by the way
Like the famous writer phoning it in for a payout
Is the last one and the least offended by the Death of God
We worry so much about wounding
A thing that can take no blows that is nothing but blow
But of course this is always the problem with lending a body
To bodiless powers and why they call it a book
Which must be why they say belief precedes whatever
Follows so if you believe that's a trio of crows
Attending you as you wind the neighborhood's red brick streets
It probably most definitely is

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Copyright © 2017 John Estes All rights reserved
from Sure Extinction
Elixir Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission