Hey, I just found out George Carlin died and I wrote a poem about him. I know, I know, pretty hokey, but hey, heroes are hard to find, plus, why not indulge when the moment is right? Well, here's my poem (try not to cry too hard).
in a black mask
all hair and consuming
he shouted against a picket fence
and that in all of our circumstance
to be blank ghosts clung
sweet and awful