What Remains: A Poem by Justin Permenter

Burial ground with cross tombstones
Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash

What Remains

These poems are not art
They are burial instructions

I do not write them to be remembered
I write that I may be properly forgotten

Pay no attention to the falsehoods which comprise my eulogy
The pulpit was ever made for telling lies

Just know that I purchased these fictions at a bargain price
And burned the receipts in the furnace of the crematorium

Their ashes now mingle with my own
For flesh and bone burn almost as well as paper

But poetry burns best of all

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