I got in really late tonight because I went drinking and bowling (what a combination) with some friends. So here's a poem I wrote a while ago instead of an actual entry. I'm tired.

When I Die

When I die I want to be dipped into a vat of molten bronze
and stood up on a pedestal in the middle of a city park
so that pigeons can shit on my shoulders
and vandals can scrawl "niggaz" on me in
day-glo orange spray paint.

When I die I want to be buried in a lonely corner of
a forgotten overgrown cemetery beneath a cheap sandstone marker
so that my epitaph is worn almost smooth by acid rain in 100 years
and children will visit my grave on September mornings
to do rubbings of my tombstone with large manila paper and red crayons
and reveal my name, my birthday, my deathday.

When I die I want to be dropped in a remote corner of Alaska
so that the scavengers can scatter my bones and my flesh will feed their young
and I will live on in a new generation of animals.

When I die I want to be buried beneath a ridiculously expensive 50-foot high copper pyramid
which will survive until the year 10,000 when the Y10K bug will hit
and the world turns to an alien civilization for help
but the aliens want to be repaid with a 50-foot high copper pyramid
and the world will give them my marker.

When I die I want to be stuffed and put in a museum
so that strangers will come to stare into my lifeless glass eyes
and criticize my haircut and wonder
why I never did anything about the tiny scar in the middle of my forehead.

When I die I want to be dropped into the ocean off the coast of Scotland
so that I will sink to the bottom and be fossilized and be exposed
three million years from now when Scotland is the peak of a mountain
and paleontologists will dig up my bones and debate about
what I ate, what I sounded like, whether I cared for my young
or just gave birth to them and left them to fend for themselves.

When I die I want to be cremated
so that my ashes can be doled out
in one gram commemorative containers
which will be sold at Sears in the gift department
for twenty dollars apiece.

When I die I want to be shot into space
so that my body will become another bit of uncatalogued space junk
which will strike a communications satellite
and make people live without their cellphones
for twenty-four hours.

When I die I want to be dissected
by a group of medical students taking Gross Anatomy
so that they can look at the inner workings of my body and marvel at them
and make jokes to each other over my cadaver
about how gross Gross Anatomy really is.

When I die I want to be embalmed and entombed in an airless glass case
and put on display in Spearfish, South Dakota
so that people will go to see Sarah's Tomb on vacation
and they will stop at Sanford's Pub and Grub
to eat the divine potato soup in a bread bowl
with cheese grated on top and a frosty beer to wash it down
and they will say, "We should back come here next year."

When I die I want to be mislabeled at the funeral parlor
and buried in Mr. George (family man, entrepreneur, philanthropist) Johnson's grave
so that I will be dug up again in ten years
when the mistake is finally discovered
and make one last trip to my own grave
which the kind Mr. Johnson had thoughtfully kept cold for me.

When I die I want to be forgotten.
When I die I want to be remembered.

When I die I will be dead
and won't care one way or the other anyway.