dead roses for writers I admire

 
(i)
 
the dead tell no tales
but ah they do
ask the mortician
they speak more truthful than the living
having no time for lies
they speak on the facts
in black, blues and reds
 
(ii)
 
three poets
Craic, Hemi, and Crimsin
what do they have in common?
nothing but fire in their guts
and haunting these halls longer than most
bumping heads
bumping into one another
mostly staying in eaches corner
 
(iii)
 
Crimsin the shit starter
I can't help myself
old alliances are remembered
no, I've never been in the respected group
I whore myself out too much cest la vie
 
(iv)
 
the respected
I love you all
even try to mimic you
hoping something will catch
I don't know yet  
if anything has sunk in
 
(v)
 
dead roses
on my unmarked grave
I am possessed with writing
will likely die unknown
but somehow I think you will remember me
 
 
(vi)
 
you will won't you?