Her Space Holiday
The Death Of A Writer
If the death of a writer brings life in his readers
Then what does that mean that we?re still breathin?
All of us have learned our words Some of us have less and some have more but
They?re all equally capable of ruining things for A simple kiss to an apology To a I miss a eulogy and It all depends how you tap those typing keys
Like a dusty old sack under that magazine rack We?re just a floor full of issues With our burdens printed on our backs
One time in Texas as I browsed those endless aisles
And I thumbed through those volumes
And sifted through those piles
I wondered if they could go back in time Would they twist the plot and move a lot and
Are they haunted by their reprints late at night
And I thought about my own tales And how often the hero failed and Should I do some revising of my own
A warped piece of wax on that gramophone mat we just Spin and spin and spin as our pasts Keep on playing back Be careful what you wish for
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