to the people of Earth.

Bury me nude
full of bullet-holes,
just as I am
then.

We shan't
pay the rolling tolls
of bells, of wreaths
and crepe. No casket
or ceremony. In lieu
of flowers? Some
tasteful black
balloons

for who to release
as they wish, and
when. Dig a hole
lay me out, altogether
and all, by the open grave,
by the open bar, and some
canapés - hold a rollicking
wake. And when the last dog
is hung, just roll me in.

Then let night and day
call foxes and crows
to dig in. Let time's
sweet healing begin.

About a week's worth of
me being late, somebody

come back

and fill me in. I will find
the time with abated mind
and breath. Let the dirt rain
down full of worms, and

tally the scores of years
since birth
was bested in death.

Call it
another triumphant win
for the people of Earth, tied
every time at the finish line
for best we get.