This morning, waking early, at the time
you often do, I remembered that first
touch, your hand in mine; I reached out for you,
but remembered you are far away. Your
absence is a taste of life without you.
You did extract a promise that I live
longer than you, not to leave you alone,
I am to be the one alone in our bed
waking at two in the morning, thinking
you had just slipped out to the bathroom, I
make room for you to climb over me when
you return.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
My Last Will And Testament
When I die don't waste
your time missing me; just remember
how much fun I had.
When I die I want my
Earthly Remains
to provide gainful employ
for bacteria, maggots, sexton beetles,
vultures and jackals. Just drop
my corpse into the forest
somewhere around Mount Shasta.
When I die I want the last frame
in my camera published
in my obituary (wait, not that one
- I must have squeezed the shutter
when my heart stopped - use the other one).
When I die I want all of you to come to my house
and eat up all the food and drink up all the booze
(I recommend the single malt scotch);
if more is needed there is cash in the cannister
behind the toaster. Then play all the music
really loud;
take off your clothes and dance
all around the place, scandalizing
the neighbors and forgetting the rules
of decorous behavior. I'm telling you this now
so I can enjoy imagining it while
I see your faces. And, ladies, sashay
your gloriously revealed bodies
up to the the big portrait of me
in the front room, kiss me and wave
your asses, your tits and your lovely pussies
at my unseeing image, knowing I love you more
for just having the nerve to ask such a thing of you.
And perhaps you will wake up next morning entwined
around each other, slightly hung over, having satisfied
some instinctive desire to remember your own mortality
by dipping, with abandon, into that pool
of touch, scent and sight
of each other which makes
life the delight it is.
your time missing me; just remember
how much fun I had.
When I die I want my
Earthly Remains
to provide gainful employ
for bacteria, maggots, sexton beetles,
vultures and jackals. Just drop
my corpse into the forest
somewhere around Mount Shasta.
When I die I want the last frame
in my camera published
in my obituary (wait, not that one
- I must have squeezed the shutter
when my heart stopped - use the other one).
When I die I want all of you to come to my house
and eat up all the food and drink up all the booze
(I recommend the single malt scotch);
if more is needed there is cash in the cannister
behind the toaster. Then play all the music
really loud;
take off your clothes and dance
all around the place, scandalizing
the neighbors and forgetting the rules
of decorous behavior. I'm telling you this now
so I can enjoy imagining it while
I see your faces. And, ladies, sashay
your gloriously revealed bodies
up to the the big portrait of me
in the front room, kiss me and wave
your asses, your tits and your lovely pussies
at my unseeing image, knowing I love you more
for just having the nerve to ask such a thing of you.
And perhaps you will wake up next morning entwined
around each other, slightly hung over, having satisfied
some instinctive desire to remember your own mortality
by dipping, with abandon, into that pool
of touch, scent and sight
of each other which makes
life the delight it is.
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