Only in the modern world

Could you have a funeral for thoughtless words

The spinning lonely

Half-explained and half-sincere remarks

We send out hang preserved like petals in a paperweight

And so the things you said

When you assumed today’s sun would last forever

And the desperate pleas he sent you every hour on the hour

Become heirlooms and cryptograms

Searched again and again for an explanation

Or absolution or a clearer picture

I mark them one by one for the guillotine

I have had enough of poring over

What is no more than a moment’s suicide note