When the new book arrived, he threw
the old book away. He made common
cause with known saxophonists, shabby
worn-out things unworthy of our notice.
Remarks containing acid he poured on
each and every, circulating among the
assembled mourners, whispering,
"What a pity!" and "Such a shame
he had to die so young, before his song
had ended." He used to say one learned
from one's mistakes, but he really knew
better. It's his turn now, I hesitate to say.