Horses

A boy I knew wrote a story
about a horse lit on fire.

In a gallery, a life-sized canvas:
multi-colored horse, dripping.

I watched an old Soviet animation
again and again for the horse in the fog.

I think if I opened my car’s trunk
my horse’s head would be there.

But it is only her halter.
Only her empty halter.

Dead Young Famous People

It is cruel of young famous people to die:
they remind us we’re not safe,
even if we make it.

It is generous of young famous people to die:
they let us invent epics in our minds;
they inspire biographical movies
for future young famous people to star in.

It is thoughtless of young famous people to die:
they leave photographers, make-up artists, agents,
character actors, screen writers, fans
bereft
in the middle of a scene.

It is convenient for young famous people to die:
they distract all of us who would rather not look
at other deaths that are too far away
or too close.

It is irresponsible of young famous people to die:
they turn death into something glamorous,
immortalized and always beautiful
on a kitschy-cool tee-shirt.

It is selfless of young famous people to die:
perhaps a certain number of youths must die
each century, and they bow their lovely heads
and say, “Take me. I will go.”