/Apologies to the Jains:

Death be not noble

Or a selfless act.  Check out the undead

For the primer on death by consumption.

/Apologies to Ramses:

Death is only the beginning.

/No apologies to the zombies:

After a life of

Affluenza, they are condemned to so much more -

It’s not enough to enjoy Lewis Lapham’s mind.  You have to

Enjoy Lewis Lapham’s mind!  With a nice Chianti.

Of course The Continental was a zombie.  Check his approach!

/No apologies to the readers of Harper’s:

You can always go back to Remnick.

/I apologize for the lycans:

Their table manners lacking

Except in efficiency, and so they prowl the buffet

And they demand the ‘Senior Special’

And then ensure the other seniors get theirs.

At least they clean their plates themselves

/I apologize to the lycans:

You are ideal dinner guests

/Few apologies for the Living:

Craven slaves clawing

From their 750i sarcophogi, draining their baristas

With every suck of soy latte. The pay homage to death

Their Maker, and pay with Amex Black.

/Few apologize for the Living:

They make the dead bearable

#

Following Gill’s wishes, I respect the elements
This late in the year, When the Sun says enough:
Enough slogs through stratus of wet concrete,
Enough poignant reminders that all rain scatters off
before bold blue day or pinpricks of stars.

Here is that last reminder – tonight in a howl
Of autumn breeze flinging chop at hulls, and hulls
Against bumpers that squeal with each embrace.
We all end our seasons alone, and haul
what we can ashore in our time -

Engines and their fuel, gloves, lines, belts,
Locks. No matter when you have to go, you choose
The time you leave. Beneath the gale-strummed racket
Carillon of aluminum masts and halyard slaps,
I zip my collar to my chin and shift

My weight with each roll of the dock. Boathouse
Lights glimmer over the lake, one thousand paramours
Real and imagined, and I am the lone parson
In his listing pulpit, a last witness to their sparkle
as they wink out in winter’s haggard clasp.

#