by Ink

One thing the ancient Greeks got right
as far as invented gods go
was the muses.
Coming from nothing,
emissaries of creation
make sense –
burgeon to bursting the beginning universe
then loosen its belt
to accommodate the more
of everything
inevitable with eternity.

So it also makes sense there be a reaper,
a collector of fads and flavors
fallen out of favors,
and I imagine him a hoarder –
loudly grousing about
endlessly collecting the withered
while interring everything
behind museum-grade glass
with hospice bedside manner
and bottomless Windex bottle.

And this memorabilia mausoleum,
viewed from on high,
can only seem a river,
a taxi – elongated for each exhibit added;
new patrons, for two pennies, stare
into the abyss of obsolescence
as the ferryman points out
each in his continually growing list of favorites
and asks,
“Can you believe it”
with rhetorical, childlike wonder
every single time.

Balancing a taste for all things caffeinated with a thorough knowledge of how to waste time, Ink (he/him) sporadically stains the pages of online and print periodicals and performs at open mics of ill repute around the NY/NJ/PA area. He founded and served as Stanza Cannon EIC, an online journal for oral poetry, and has published three chapbooks: 61 Central (Finishing Line Press), The Vessel of the Now (Back Room Poetry), and Pining (Alien Buddha Press). Ink’s full-length poetry collections include Death Loves a Drinking Game (Piscataway House Publications) and Miserable with Fire. SM and contact info can be found here: linktr.ee/inkthepoet.