Thursday, March 19, 2009

happy deathday to you

the reaper will
make a cake of yr body
one day

a happy 'deathday' cake

he'll squeeze some feces
from a colostomy bag
like a baker
& write yr name on
yr chest in cursive
maybe create a little
tombstone next to it

it'ill say in oozing brown icing

& then he'll jab a lit cigar
into your navel
where the umbilical once
was rooted

& the gray folds of ash
will glow & grow

then he'll whisper-sing
into yr ear:
happy deathday to you
happy deathday to you
happy deathday dear ______
happy deathday to you

& the worms will sing along
as they bang the butts of their forks
hungry for dessert

& you'll get one wish
before you blow out the cigar

& what might that be?

then the reaper will take
his sickle
& divide you up
as the worms line up
w/their little empty plates

& they'll come back for seconds
of course

& somewhere yr wish will drop
through space like a falling star....
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.