tonight I'm going to
sleep with the curtains open

and if in the morning
I don't wake

let these sheets become flags

hang them so they  appear
as swans on top of
telegraph poles

hang them where the grass is blown across
the midriff of the girl I saw on the platform today

hang them above the fields
where potatoes grow into
the shapes of sympathetic ears

hang them where they may
unravel as bandages from dancing limbs

let my scent cling to them and let the ones
who loved me bury their heads in the wind

hang them on the hero's shoulders
let them be the cloak that transforms him

hang them out to sing in the pines full of woodsmoke

hang them where the sun warms the seagulls belly
where babies commit clotheslines to memory

hang them alongside the underwear you decided not to
wear today

let them hang like actors performing
daring rituals in tropical hotels

hang them on the cucumber held by the checkout girl

hang them on the chins of strutting statues
riding concrete horses

hang them over the endless heads of anxious eyes so
children may play with driftwood
their sea encrusted hair untamed
unwashed  

hang them over the conspiracy of clocks

but don't let them hang around too long
don't let them hang down sad and greasy
shrugging shoulders at the parties end.
muttering 'nothing left, time to go'

pull them down mid-dance
sporting a bulging
salt-breeze paunch

hanging just long enough

for them to know

I have eaten well.