Fibrous Gatherings

So, who replaced
Brian Jones in
the Rolling Stones.
Who nodded out
in some Las Vegas
hangout, with indignity.
Were the last hours
of a certain singer,
actually spent in Balham,
sleeping forever in a car.
Was a slow dive
into the Mississippi
all it took to end a life.
A one so short,
just like his fathers.
Remember when it
was good to be young,
and the spectre of death
only lived for Rock and Roll.
Carnivorous it was,
eating away at tender flesh,
until all that was left
was polish white bone.
Rendered beautiful yet
bleak, a reduction
of sorts –
charcoal burning.
Lamp oil smell.
Fibrous gatherings
atop the altar
of marble and stone.


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