My Death

My death shall be a funeral tango of delight

where the entrants shall revel in fading daylight

Eat be merry and fuck on the floor

celebrate a life-lived and nothing more

But if, in life, I offered you only distain

then please, my petty do refrain

from showing up and revealing a face

that floods of zirconium tears could ever replace

the virtuous truth that I did not like you at all

or give credence any time you mouth did crawl

For now, alive, you can dive into an electrocuted shower

and even if your death were in my power

no way would I turn up at your rotted dance to greet

your kin, your slipshod sentiments and revel in the most despicable of deceit

of you, gripped in the heinous anguished moment of emotion faked

your rotted core, a soul on the take

Oh limp sagging wilted bubonic world,

i’d rather dine in volcanic ash than be witness to your fate

So, if only four or five or less do show up

from up high, I shall saviour every spirited sup

take only joy in cries of praise from the ones I have loved

because there and none too many I shall long to see whence above