(9 Mar 1994)

A sad window opens and blows sad wind;

The old writer dead over a new word processing computer;

And young, giggling children under the So. Cal. sun;

What fun is it to die of pneumonia--

Especially while trying to re-boot the goddammed computer

to expostulate ones last bit of knowledge?

The window in the air blows and a roach shares a sandwich;

The computer still hums -- dumb, dumb, dumb, computer

never booted and it never knew that you were gone;

But the flies knew, and they have laid their young on your last

sores;

Until someone identified you;

What did they care?

Into The headline it read,

”Buk is dead, at last... It's about time.”