XI

Oh buttermilk sky, Thermopylae
was a gateway to the South.
Oh swell, a suicide
mission, to die is the highest
form of art.

I suffered my whole life
and all I got
was this lousy t-shirt.

I would also like to be smiling
   and wearing swimtrunks
at my own funeral
I would like to say hey J.C.,
can I get the keys to heaven?

I’d like to make some copies.

                                                  12 August 2003