Melting Pot For Poetry

Play good music at my funeral.

So my closed eyes will see the silhouette,

Of ballerinas,

Instead of mourning shadows.

Make it a concert for the dead.

The music should be so loud,

That a crack forms in the crust,

And out crawls the apparitions of

Everyone I knew.

Let the crowd of living and lost

Mingle freely.

Where skin and spirit touch,

Tattoos made of bruises will form,

Scarring every soul,

A reminder of what they could lose.

Let the separated lovers

Pull away the veil,

And twist in the sheet

As they're known to do.

Let all who claim it morbid

Be swallowed whole,

By the rush of violins,

Let their heads pound

With the drums,

Their ears explode,

With the trill of the flutes,

Their limbs move

With the melody.

Sell tickets at the door,

And concessions from the hearse.

Booze and beer should fill

Every glass.

Any sad drunk asked to leave,

For they'll surely pull down the party,

Of entangled corpse and carcasses.

The funeral flowers should be

Between the teeth

Of the tangoing.

And the Bibles

As coasters.

And the funeral programs will

Wipe away sweat and tears.

When the Undertaker says

It's time to go,

Kiss my mother for me,

Let her know that this was perfect for her daughter,

Loud and dirty-

Where the dripping tears

Fall between

Smiling lips and gaped teeth.

Onto dried tongues.

Into parched throats,

Scratchy from screaming

The eulogy and songs.

The mixed words

A melting pot for poetry.

Then let my dear Saint-Saëns

Play his final Danse Macabre.

Tell Camille that he should be proud,

In his time they didn't understand,

Only a soul filled with nothingness

Could appreciate the written beauty.

Make sure to send

A thank you note,

To him when he gets back to hell.

For it was his death march

That led the dead

Back to

Where the gays,

The sinners,

The godless,

The partiers,

Are all said to be.

Make sure that they

Play good music at my funeral,

To ensure that all of my loves

Will one day meet me again.

Where we can resume

What a lifeless living

Started.

A party fit for the dead.