Farewell Nicholas

they fished you out of obscurity, making your life
but a tabloid tragedy, a I told you so tale of mother
does herself in, then son follows suit, the domino
effect of gutter press causality, and yet you lived Nicholas
another life than poetry, you were known to Sylvia
and Ted as a baby then child, the brother of Frieda
but everything you did, everywhere you chose to go,
i would be rewritten for copy, as if you had no life
except for hermetically sealed metaphors dragged
from the poetry gutted and salted, served with butter
as kipper for breakfast of hound who hunts you in death
seeking cheap comparisons that obscure the baby
which gurgled and babbled in the arms of parents
who so happened to have been poets not scientists
then you depressed and sad for whatever reason
decide to take your life, then your suicide is recited
in the literary circles as the fashion of the season
like purple is in, and yellow out, you are parasited
by intellectuals and numbskulls, well I for one will
say here, in this space, they can all go to hell
for Nicholas, we should say if anything, all in silence
let the Sea and its contents you loved, swash over
the similarities, and leave only You, in beautiful peace.
Farewell