Some actual poetry and not a Twitter recap
ON THE EVE OF ALEX CHILTON'S DEATH
You died 2 days this side of Caesar
and the first thought anyone had
was how the Replacements sang
not of you
but a childish interpretation
of your idea
Did your last thought
hold the same circuitry that
lit your neurons in the shape of your band’s name
BIG STAR
convinced that it was an echo of fate
and not a talisman shaken at the specter
of obscurity
Were you angry that
you were never Orion
the most pointed to celestial body
but an obscure phenomenon experienced
only by a few who knew what they were looking for?
A brilliance
that only casts into the periphery
No millions of children ever sang Caesar unto you
No arenas
The empty seats screamed Brutus into your back
hunched your shoulders into a humble influence
You
were a muse
forced into the modesty of inspiration
A victim
of callous astronomy
Was this a choice?
Did you see the way fame had
gnawed away the sinew of
every emperor before you
leaving only bones to be crushed underfoot
and scattered to the indifferent wind?
Or
did you welcome the feast?
Eager to charge 10 times Judas' price to Christ
to eat of your body?
Were you ripped screaming out of the spotlight
scared that the halo it gave you
was the only one
you would ever wear?
I know
I am asking this all too late
Like a recalcitrant son
wailing regret at his father's casket
but
before you sleep, answer me this:
As your circuits flipped tilt
would you have traded your last 30 years
to finally overthrow Orion and burn your legacy
into the ink of night or are you happy
with the tiny corner of sky granted all of us
simply
for living?
Sincerely,
The Inspired