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Elegy on the Death of Steve Jobs*   (Protagoras, December 15, 2007)


Farewell Steve Jobs the charismatic preacher
Whose first vocation was perhaps Guyana
That sunlit clearing where the waiting crowd
Wept as they drank and died, and he died later.
But Woz and Sculley, illness, resurrection
The cheering lost familial annual crowds
Saved him from all that. Now that he has died
The Cupertino crowds that lined the streets
Through which his train with black clad mourners flowed
Could half not know they had been acolytes.
They strewed the road before him with their flowers
Something of loveliness had left their lives
They'd not so much believed as felt a pull
Where buying was belonging, using meant
A spiritual rapture and a state of grace
Inclined without necessity. There, freedom
Seemed to be perfected in his will.
But turn turn away now, turn you now and climb.
Off board the pastel roaring bird your ashes
Drift as a grey cloud into the waves
They cannot hear your funeral elegies
That blend of Zen, Far Eastern and New Age
That spiritual pride is all forgotten now
And whether it was cult, religion, commerce
Will not long trouble now the primeval ooze
Or settling dust of what was once a man.


*No, he is not dead. It's a poem.


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