Guzlowski-Stepek: The Never-ending Poem

  In 2144, I’ll be very dead,  not there's any other form of dead. I'm buried in a bookstore, not in the classics section nor under poetry.  I'm under a Clearance Sale banner. You’ll be buried in the Van Gogh, Dickinson, Thoreau section for those fully discovered long after death. I ask you to sing The Sound of Silence. You’ll say you don't know it then you sing the whole song. Hello darkness, my old friend.

  In 2044, I’ll be 94.  Every bookstore  will be a graveyard for books.    Reading will be dead.   I’ll be in a wheel chair  looking at the grave  of all my books.   You’ll be standing next to me   and I’ll ask you to sing  “Shall We Gather at the River.” You’ll sing it  like God is listening.