What's Dead? Poem by Dedrick Estiltaph

a clearing in woods near my sidekick

remains,
dry stocks in plunging likeness:
he smiles
like the last time its going to happen.

behind eyeballs
something soluble
burst as cameras wince:
this is getting ugly...

it reminds one how to dress.

the way a man falls from the sky,
lands at a meeting
in business casual
and still has time to
hit on the receptionist.

He's a god-send.
Let's make him our leader.