Resound
All my heroes are fallen
only their music remains
which is what keeps them heroic
I could not love the actual them
their lunatic ways, their infidelities
and other dastardly dallyings,
their wrestling in the muck
with blood-mad muses, drowning
and howling in the pernicious
pallor of life, ever penniless,
pathetic, wretched, bestially
brilliant and eternally tortured,
hearts engorged and sickly
with syphilitic self absorption.
Still, I would sell a soul
to kiss one toe of such
a master crafter of word or song
strong enough make one blanch
with bald beatitude.
That's just how I am,
plundering through daily agonies
numbing and dumb
because the echoes are there
to dull the damning din.
All my heroes are all fallen
and I hug their bare bones in.
Copyright Julianza Shavin 2008
cynth'ya
Edwin
Ted