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and I turned to the camera, and said

CEE

When I was in the hospital
When I figured I was dying
They sent a milquetoast man of the cloth
We spoke of death, my disappointment
How I saw Death as a happening
Not just something which happened,
Like being on the wrong end of a bullet
Trapped, late night, my garage
Moonlight cutting the grain against me
Assailant actually righteous
Re: what I actually said or did
Daring with “your move” or
Crucified pose
A single tear, for the right, emo assassin
And, hey, wow, I was right about Human
And, I’m gone;
The Rt. Rev. Toast
Smiled his revisionism, pablum voice,
“That isn’t death.”
I left, next day, against doctor’s orders
One year later, writing this
Go shove your weewee peepee death
You’ll serve me the 80’s, or
Just for spite,
I’ll stand
in the climate, and live

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