eulogy: wasted words

my body’s a temple with me trapped inside
and i’m an uncomfortable bumpy kinda ride

they chased off my kind with pine branches and sticks they called incense
but honestly it smelled like shit when it was over;
no one came to worship at my red altar
there’s too much about me i’d like to alter– change– rearrange

shit this goes nowhere, just like my life.

I can’t see the end and now not even the liquor’s my friend;
it took a vacation and hallucinations stopped coming when I did.
look at what I did!
nothing, you tell me, you’re nothing-at-all
and i sit by the phone waiting for a wake-up call
from a god that to me won’t ever exist
(poor mama, she cultivated an atheist)

and I’m an uncomfortable bumpy kinda ride
my body’s a temple with me trapped inside

I committed suicide by poem,
impaled on brass tacks (always frugal);
my obituary’s an index card with gum on the back

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