The Poetry of Blogging Heads Is Often Dead
Blogging Death
To have an incensed life
devoid of true love is like
a blog without soulful comments,
such mockery this with
no tangible human touch.
Less than Shakespeare’s “brief candle” and
a blue strut across the staged farce,
without applause, it’s
mockery like a Guillotine, a curtain
falling down on heads, and like
the silence of the question mark on
an unmarked grave at
the bottom of a cliff, a body
never found profound, without portfolio,
no sense, no
footnotes, fresh air.
No
spring.
Snow.
Poet Laureate of the Primitive Planets 