When
I win the National Book Award for poetry
Ten
years after I’m dead I am the luckiest stiff
In
this forgotten cemetery and yes I put on airs
Plunder
choices and find my source right here
O
why did I leave that vain clause in my Will
To
have a mirror affixed to the ceiling of my coffin?
Dirt
pushes in my veins my heart is near to Mother
Earth
shall I grow a night flower now some fierce
Intelligence with smooth peaches-and-cream
Intelligence with smooth peaches-and-cream
Skin O I feel it beating underneath so warm
Pulsing hot blood all throughout your body
O
why did I leave that silly proviso in my Will
To wear over-the-ear Skullcandy headphones
Perpetually
playing the Cranberries’ “Zombie”?
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