Creeper Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Creeper

In his poem, vicarious melancholia, John Koethe mourns, cries.
Or
I see as I want.
By death of poem or poetry junks grow in place vacated, empty.

He, worries, is afraid of own death. Yes that is personal for us all.
Witnesses daily deaths; is concerned.
Shouldn’t we?
In a way, don’t we know, for each death there is a replacement?

Fear of selfishness, a weakly self-defence; boundaries of our life,
That borders the others.
Shouldn’t we?
In a way, don’t we know, for each death there is a replacement?

“In the midst” of our life we are dead to others’, that is shame.
Too busy we are with the texting and phone call or accounts…
Oh people be aware
We are confined; drama offstage until bell rings and warns…