Long, Strange Decay (a poem)

Dead poets hang
from shrunken trees:
a pocket full of posies

singing dead songs,
lyrical flames ignite
numb corpses

Obsolete language from
skull faces, pensive troubadours:
satchels with free verse,
in a universe
devoid of logic

Doomed couplets from
sensual mouths
beckon me to extinction
and coldness –
dead poets say in
scarred voices,
welcome to the
long, strange decay.

(Photo by Frantzou Fleurine on Unsplash)

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