Too Much Prudence A Bad Thing

Just tell us how it happened. Throw the courtesy aside.
Vague murmurings of hushed restraint are more than I can take.
I’m leaping to conclusions while I wonder how he died.
There is more than vain conjecture I’m presuming one can make . . .
whether natural, accidental overdose or suicide,
It’s too late for social niceties. He’s reached the other side.

Asleep at the Wake: a Dirge

 
 
Because I hate money
as money hates me,
I will out-live my debt
and be buried for free.Recueillement

My gravest desire:
die poor, with no coffin,
that Death may unharden
what Life could not soften.

Because money hates me
I sometimes hate God,
(though I never served Mammon)
so SHOVEL, you clod,

while I speak from the grave;
a cadaver with class:
come strew a few flowers
and cover my ass.

(Or cover my assets
financially
so my corpse doesn’t lie
like a liability.)

Because money hates me
I’ll leave it to you
to savor my point of
funereal view.