Another day, another dead celeb.
This time, it’s personal. Did your fam-
ous timing fail you in your heartbeat’s ebb,
Mr. Carlin? Did you choose this lame
bit that’s now stolen your encore? Too many
dead too soon, too fast these funerals come,
the vault of platitudes is bare and any
further words are empty words. We’re dumb
and blinded now. Perhaps it’s right and true
you shock us yet again, that we’re accosted
by your final play on words: how to
express our naked grief when grief’s exhausted.
When Tricksters, at long last, use up their chances,
Coyote laughs, and Kokapelli dances.