The
body in the standard layout,
the
same state, the same ritual,
a
line of cars,
the
press were pallbearers
taking
pieces of the corpse like ants
bits
of anything left
scraps
of dirty remnants of their lives
nothing
sacred
nothing
safe
all
of those human moments exposed
sadness
was the standard costume
crying
eyes of those who took posesssion of the corpse
but
no one knew her
sterile
bits of words
from
voices of strangers
tomorrow
the front page
all
the wars their demons rage
all
the things they shouldn't have said
no
respect, no emotion
for
the dead
the
possession
a
celebrity becomes
the
possession
all
decorum lost to the story at hand
speak
the words like vultures at a feast
without
choking on a single word
cast
out across the news
every
dirty, filthy thought they ever had
and
how they once did drugs
and
how they beat their kids
facts
like seasoning
that
add or detract
to
fill the space and compensate
for
all the dignity we lack......
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