I will die. I don't know when.
   I don't know how or why. I die.
   There will be tears and food.
   There will be laughter when
   the stories are told and Bill
   shines among the casseroles.
We float on seas to unknown
places maybe off earth itself.
What can we poets in this
new world discover?

Truth is absolute.
**** the politics.
**** the money.
**** the papers.

Death is a proper event.
We gather around and
share the heat of sorrow and
pray to *** we aren't next.

We need to ask the winos
in the streets and addicts in
***** houses near the dead
what matters and what doesn't?
Closer to death I get the louder I need to scream my truth!
There's a place for my kids
an attic for all my lovers
a special room for pets
auditorium filled with friends
a bar for drunken friends who
know me like no others ever will.
Always confess your worst secrets to drunken friends. The slate is wiped clean in the harsh light of morning.
Wheels spinning with lovers sinning
   in the dark of the tunnel of love.
   Kids giddy on carousel wooden horses.
   Win her heart with a stuffed unicorn.
   Guess your age. Guess your weight.
   See the freaks on display just for you.
I want to play piano without
     a PHD in music theory or tedious
     playing scales 'til I'm brain dead.
     drugs ****. boredom kills. pick one.
I beseech my grim reaper to
****** me from this perch
after my meal on a full gut
preferably at White Castle.
What mind designed it?
   What hand set it in motion?
   Who wrote the scripts we
   follow day in and day out?

   We're prisoners. We're beasts
   of burden in our yokes serving
   what sentence life handed down.
   Drudgery we hate. Death we fear.
The inner workings of a pocket watch had to be designed by ***!
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