Sep 302002
To a Dead Journalist
Behind that white brow
now the mind simply sleeps —
the eyes, closed, the
lips, the mouth,
the chin, no longer useful,
the prow of the nose.
But rumors of the news,
unrealizable,
cling still among those
silent, butted features, a
sort of wonder at
this scoop
come now, too late:
beneath the lucid ripples
to have found so monstrous
an obscurity.
–William Carlos Williams