This has to be the strangest funeral
in recorded history. All of the mourners
are sitting in chairs gathered around to
make a square with rounded corners
and they’re leaning back and they’re
raising their hands and having someone
call on them to speak and they’re speaking
about fucking when they go out to a
party on Saturday.
And the lights are glaring down and the heater’s
been cranked up and the door is wide open but
inching shut and the windows are barred
and the curtains aren’t drawn.
And they haven’t hired a rabbi nor monk nor
priest nor preacher nor nun alike to exult the
departing soul and there’s an eulogy around
that’s been written nor heard.
And they’ve propped me up on a desk at the far left corner of the room and they’ve forgotten to build a coffin around me.