November 21, 2002

  • pounce upon my words.


    like a vulture would hot, putrid roadkill


    left mealy in the street.


     


    make gel of my whims.


    like invading bacillus would exposed agar in a petrie dish,


    like an earthquake turning a hill of clay to squish.


     


    plan to dance upon my grave.


    but don’t dance well—


    flagellate as if the heat of my soul flaming


    is burning your tender tapping soles.


     


    cover your face and laugh.


    knowing that a veil of non-emotion


    chars my heart much more


    than a snicker in the open.


     


    take a shit.
    and flush my memory


    down the drain


    with the excrement.


     


    but first, face me.


    and give me one last kiss.

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