When I Die

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’.