When you are dead I will change the bedsheets.
The sun will shine for five billion more years.
I will still have green eyes when you are dead
And I will drink orange juice.
I will feed the cats.

Then I will drink. My tissues
will swell with firewater.
My memories will self-immolate.
I will ***** brimstone
and my skull
will be filled with sea urchins.
I will have one scrambled
egg sandwich, dripping and
greasy with mayonnaise.
I will read Bukowski and
I will stare at pigeons in the parking lot.
I will wear purple shoes.
I will get a sunburn.
I will sob
face down in the grass
and a small child will walk past
and won't know what to do with me.
I will ride up
and down in an elevator.
I will watch the sun go splat
over this porcupine city and
bury itself in the smog.
I will watch the horizon
breathe up black until it’s night
and I will wonder
how much colder Mars is.

Then I will go home and kick myself for changing the sheets and I will take them from the laundry basket and hug them to my chest because you slept in them.

The next morning, I’ll be gone too.
(Johnny Cash knew).