Regarding The Funeral
(of Baudelaire, an unfinished painting by Édouard Manet)
i stand and watch the procession
pass before my eyes
the discipline of grief
struck lines
The stench of summer the rotten flowers
plague me from town high
above long time since and less than three short feet
the curious file by excusing
themselves and hearse and horse
and heads bowed down
they trail with hurried steps and furrowed brows
people die all the time
eventually
even friends with no amends and even those who are bereft
the trees the breeze circumspect the final stroke
the thunder claps
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