My epitaph stared back at me,

grinning knowingly at

the paper cut peep show.

Dead Man Shaving.

Fumbling through the motions

I smoked a peace pipe,

and declared war on life,

the universe,

and modern art.

As needled tumors grew

in my brain’s icy cave,

I fried mushrooms,

but ate nothing

in a righteous hunger strike,

and lost all feeling in my fingers.

Bare-headed and baptized,

I was dragged screaming,

chanting advertising slogans

to Egyptian Sun Gods,

and a full eclipse winked at me slyly.

Then, on my twenty-third attempt

at eternal life,

I found a small pool of lamb’s tears

and bathed my eyes.

I saw myself unshaven,

unkempt and unloved, and

I laughed

as a dragonfly landed on my future.

Hungry for meat,

I trapped an apple

in a silken snare

and gravity forced its juices

to slide

down my throat.

Popping pills of paucity,

I ventured forth again, on the tired trail

of the shallow brick road.

I fell into bad company.

A willow and a river

became drinking companions.

A slop bucket was my goblet

as we sang love songs

to a tearful moon.

One night we acted out a play.

I was a lighthouse,

and the river raged

as the smooth pebbles on the shore

applauded.

Willow did nothing.

A lonely goat sat down,

and told me tales

of suffering and hatred.

We cried until morning

and he vanished with the dawn.

Breakfasting on regret

I swung on the rope

across death’s chasm, laughing

at the demons below.

I waved goodbye

to my pantomime pals

and painfully scaled

the giant cobblestone hill

back to Utopia.

Straightening my tie,

I grabbed my cell phone

and rushed at the day.