Magne Furuholmens dikt til Anna Nicole (rørende saker)

to put oneself in a place

where so many know you

and so relatively few
mourn you when you go

seems to me
some post-traumatic disorder
of too many american dreams

to be caught on camera
shooting up and down in weight

then, in the end
just shooting up in some hotel

gleeful faces
gawking eyes
smirking mouths
shaking heads
including mine

a slow-mo lynch-mob
perhaps now taking time
to consider how the karma
we dismissingly dispensed your way

will come back to bite us all
one day

you traded our pity for your millions

but on the other hand
we're millions here who have lost
our ability to pity
long ago

our loss is losing you
holding up a mirror
to our ugliness

(for anna nicole)

Kilde