The earth crumbles under my feet and the waters part.
The sky melts and celestial bodies invite me into their orbit.
I am not alone.
I was never alone.
Creation abounds.
I race the wind in the heat of a summer day,
bathe naked in cool waters of a moonlit night,
and rest my soul on a bed of earth,
under a blanket of sweet grass.
No hope for the eagle’s nest
Previous sacrifices
For an unworthy offspring
Prove to be sadly wasted
Have they been compensated?
Or do they cry for their loss?
While I was sucking on her toes, she asked me, “Where is this going?”
I said, “I was thinking about adding raspberry jam.”
“Is this all you think about?”
I replied, “No, I was also thinking of vanilla cream and then having tea.”
The cool air wraps me in serenity
I float in state of dream
Waiting for my love to ignite the flame
Poised on the brink of madness
The dead are lucky
My best friend died yesterday
I’m jealous
Why wasn’t I invited?
Am I not worthy?
The dead are lucky
My first girlfriend died when she was 21
I often think about her
Does she still think about me?
Why didn’t she invite me?
The dead are lucky
Jesus allowed himself to be murdered 2000 years ago
Said he would return
Why has he been gone so long?
Are we not worthy?
Probably not
The dead are lucky
We are not
An empty throne the widow alone
Sorrow for the divided kingdom
As hungry babes cry for their future
Narcissists shall inherit the cold
No one cares for their shallow remorse
Liberty exchanged for crown of thorns
North transitions South and South to North
Oceans unbound wash away the past
While the wealthy hide themselves in caves
Fitting graves
Let the stars fall from heaven
Let the seas boil and roll
Let the mountains crumble
Let the skyscrapers tumble
Let the dying dig graves
Let the hungry eat gold
and let love be—never told
To every generation that has come along after the baby boomers, I personally apologize for all transgressions against this planet. Sex, drugs, rock & roll has apparently backfired on all of us. Since no one is going to take responsibility, I will assume that role. I plan to have myself rolled in a bed of seaweed, rice, and avocado, and cut up into bite-size pieces as an offering to the masses. I hope this serves to compensate the world for the abominations of my generation. I am truly sorry for your losses.
When I die,
the stars will fall from heaven as a weeping summer rain.
I’ll be laid out naked on the dining room table, surrounded by a variety of fresh baked bread, olives, tropical fruits, carafes of red wine, and cherry pie.
I plan to spend time with Dorothy Parker and Emily Dickinson; writing prose, drinking tea and sucking the milk of creativity from their angelic teats.
all my remaining underwear shall be handed out as tissues for the inconsolable.
my hair shall be weaved into nests for underprivileged birds.
Italian sausage shall be made from my intestines and served to hungry guests.
my liver and kidneys shall be donated to the neighbor’s cat as dinner.
my remaining money shall be given to a local bee sanctuary.
all my worldly possessions shall be placed in a great bon fire. Those wishing for a token memory can feel free to jump in.
When I die, don’t bother looking for me—I’m not coming back—ever!
Just sayin’.
Samuel DiPaola 