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An Interview With Basquiat’s Death

· Creative Writing,Poetry

The earth stretches around them, forlorn and barren.

The rider is formless and faceless

The wind whips around them on their journey forward

Carrying them on toward those darkening places.


Old friends are they,

Together since the rider’s birth.

Carrying him to where he must go, where we all must go.

The unknowing is what makes it worse.


He taps his friend’s shoulder with a question in mind

“Must we go there dear friend? Must it be?”

“I’ve seen my mother carried, my father carried, I never thought of it carrying me.”


His reply

“Dear friend, this is life’s purpose.”

“The march forward to ending must be there for beginning.”

“Ending, beginning, ending, beginning.”

“It must be so, so that life is not worthless.”

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