Dead Word

Engird the page with obloquy,
if you must-
some words lay in their chaise lounges
sipping idly from dry, dry glasses
until some somber poet
whips a thesaurus until it bleeds
blots all over the page –
why put them back to work?

Have you no decorum,
they are so old now, so frail,
and their best days are in Milton,
in Blake and Byron –
let them go to rest.
There are newborns waiting to be penned,
words with no heritage,
no imagined future –
welcome them into the fold,
make them as your own.

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