A FINE AUTUMN DAYA Poem by Mockingbirdthey suck the life out
of the corpse-less dead filling them with lurid memorabilia for the tourists who walk among the tombstones of this graveyard city. from tragedy we gladly inherit silver from the ole mint farm to place on the mantel of the patriotic. ovine superstition the poetry of numbers suicide jacks and jackson origami: portents and prophesy that feed the need to hate and rejoice. grieving widows spew forth tearful soliloquies clutching their orphaned children's faces on the covers of magazines. the voiceless mourners seek not the velvet backdrop to act out their loss as the rest enjoy the candlelit festivities and commemorative stamps. the looping footage proves futile as a ghost the real pain is forgotten on a fine autumn day. © 2014 MockingbirdReviews
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Added on March 17, 2012Last Updated on June 14, 2014 Author
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