dead poet’s society
making a will is apocalyptic permutations proliferate
minute by minute your deadhead is spinning
machinations macabre perhaps you’d like the spoils while i’m still alive
our old mother in delirium praecox shrieked this very thing to a muscled
nurse in the presence of a cowering brother we’d taken care of her money
for years and upon her death a mere buck ninety-five survived
my current husband wants to leave his estate to the Treehugger’s Society
he an avid Scottish forester i’ll be dead so i don’t care though i would
have liked a bequest with more flair
my own funds will go (after the last bro falls) to the Society of Taxidermists
these fine men+women will haul dead poets out of the fouled-bed and
prop them up with a nod to former splendour 💃🏻
my own visage will be adorned with flaming red hair a wild smirk and an
extended middle digit to all of the besmirchers +sick-o-phants and the
old geezers who slobbered as they followed me along shit-stained streets
___
..grant me an old woman’s frenzy..a wild wicked old woman..
myself i must remake retake.. (W.B.Yeats+ AAC)
Winter 2024
songanddancegirl 