Fame

In a frenzy, Fame feasted

first on what was fresh

and then on the necrotic

flesh of hangers-on. 

Tethered to their bones,

Fame’s heartbeat redoubled

as he moved from place to place

until he realized everyone

would come, and he sat down

in the dirt, commanding to

be fed and pampered.

He launched into his last

great soliloquy at dawn.

They shed their skins for him,

the hangers-on, and shivered

in their flesh hanging on

his every word. Apoplexy

took them all before they

could complete their worship.

He was left alone, tethered

to their bones. He crawled

and harangued at the sky.

Crows flew by, mocking him.

But he was famous, and he 

took some comfort in this.

He saw a sign written in blood.

“Love for all in the name of God.”

Someone more famous than he?

It meant death. He prayed,

and the angels came, delivered him

from his shackles. They said, 

“You henceforth will have no name.

In return you will have water

and shelter, and the love of Christ.”

He looked the angels in their faces,

laughed hysterically, and died.