Laughing Away Maggots

September 12, 2012
I want you to laugh at my funeral.

That's right. When my body is
hard and cold,
I want you to laugh. And smile.
I need an honest assurance
that you will look at me and giggle.
Hear the tragic news, and
dance and shimmy and giggle
I am asking you, to laugh at my funeral.

I once saw a South American burial,
and
there were so many women sobbing.
Like they were paid to
I found out later, they were.
But sadness and tears are what Death wants,
begs of,
needs to survive
off of: sadness.
Tears glistening on a face, not beautifully
I mean, angry, ugly tears
the kind that you can't hold back.
The sort that make your face pinched up and all red,

I want you to laugh at my funeral.
Smile at the fact that I'm dead!
Rejoice in the ending of a cycle
and the many good years I had
I want you to laugh, because of the golden times I saw...
and not cry over the ones I didn't see
In this life we are guaranteed
nothing but the moment in which we are currently existing.

So laugh and dance and throw my ashes like confetti
But don't cry. Never cry.
It's what
Sadness, Depression,
Death, Sorrow, Demise;
it's what they're expecting.
So throw me a bone (or throw my own)
and grant my last wish.

When you walk up, and look down in my casket,
crack a grin.





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