When the philosophers died,
their ideas died with them;
when the writers died,
their stories died with them,
& all that was left was the Here & Now.
She’d always said never again,
the make-up never quite covering the bruises.
When Ruby was placed in her satin box,
the artist of the dead made her look better
than she ever had in life.
She left them incentives in her will—
requests that would lead them to discover
greater things in themselves.
When he thought he had forever to live,
he strolled through life;
when he knew the day of his death,
& did not stop,
till the last dot
XXXon the ellipsis
XXXXXXof his timeline.
When the musicians died,
their music died.
Recording the past
was against the laws of the present,
so that the future could not be
dictated by it.