Lost art of letter writing

One alphabet has grown fat on numbers
and obituaries. The jumbled names prowl
on, on. Shuffling and saying something.

Morbidity comes around high on opium pills.
One alphabet nods in its mouth all myriad
deviances that ransacked their dues plenty.

Morbidity’s hands weren’t hands at first, before,
the alphabet wrings out of its obituary.
They were hooves that Spanish horses dreaded.


~ by Jeremy on June 4, 2012.

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