Figuratively, I Suppose (Unnoterized)

I wrote my last will and testament on the back of a Rite Aid receipt  it said, ‘bury me in an unmarked  grave and burn all I have left.’ I tell my family and friends I am a mess  of incomplete metaphors, a collection

of malaphors and allusions no one

wants to read the footnotes 

to understand. 

I like to say that I want to die 

on a rainy day. All good stories

start on a rainy day, don’t you know? 

I want to be lowered to the symphony

of falling, falling—like all Good Angels do; 

Like Vonnegut says about innocent untruths 

the smell of ozone and chrysanthemums 

wrapped around me like satin, soft,

calling me home. 

I am not suicidal; I do not want to die 

the faded scars on my body whisper

the words I dare not speak. Like all good tales,

the kind we stop saying as all goodness goes

with age and living— “once upon a time.” 

We like to look at lives like tapestries 

but they are less like novels and more like 

sublimation: it feels like we’re always skipping 

something or another, doesn’t it? 

I say we will burn that bridge

when we cross it, a clear sign

of a life well lived; leaving nothing

behind; leaving everything to the imagination.