the first days of spring having come & gone, not a sign of his stirring. a sadness, believing he might not return. a desperate search for his handle. my eyes misted, discovering i was not alone.
among others, beckoning him awake, expressing the same foreboding i felt last fall when he went to sleep early.
curse’d jack, member of that billionaire’s mutual admiration society, most likely to succeed. our belove’d hellsite, descended further, now below the seventh ring.
favorite internet people, fleeing and fled, when will it end? oh! will it ever end?! the horror of loss and of grief!
AYE, but it is he!
our belove’d red panda, lover of dogs
and potatoes, CASE CLOSE jurist. returned to us,
finally.
spring and summer, now again the lovliest two ;
with pups and star wars again,
jared, not you.
our belove’d darth looked to by both great and by small,
sought always for joy within this great hall,
there is not a one more beloved of you all!
i write this from afar.
born of the town of the carpenters,
from the groves of orange,
i sing this very humble poem
of praise,
from dirge to ode.
*after edna st. vincent millay’s “dirge without music” & “ode to silence.”