Today is the day I determine how I plan to die:

        I will lay in a field,
        With flowers in my hair
         And gold coins on my eyes.
        He will stand over my corpse,
        his hands flaying helplessly
        to save my naked soul
        (but he cannot breathe
        Life into a body's that is
        Already cold.)

           I want children to pick out my teeth and
        Then plant them in their backyards;
           So when the luscious fruit
           Is picked by their tender hands
           Tears can fall for their dead muse
        (making my insides taste even better)


        They shall be blessed
        With the gift of metaphors
        And they shall be hated.

     The ground shall attack them
     As they speak of "anti-love"
     Their feet will grow weary of
     Constant thorns
     And heavy thoughts

                (They'll give up.)

My legacy will survive in
        His hands.