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  • Like a tiny drop of dew, or a bubble floating in a stream
    Like a flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
    Or a flickering lamp, an illusion, a phantom, or a dream
    such is the brief composure of our existence

    --Diamond Sutra

    before killing himself
    he invited his friends
    to a party everyone
    gathered around
    the bed with flowers
    and a cake with
    vanilla frosting
    strawberries too

    no sappy sermons
    euphonious elegies
    no hagiography
    trite cliche banal
    requiems of what
    a great mensch
    he was and all
    that deadly crap

    throw my corpse
    in front of the
    white house lawn
    let my rot decay
    my blood spray
    on senators
    and pharmacy

    even in the end
    he had a way
    with words

    bilious rage
    at the disease
    which cannibalized
    him and the litany
    of friends lovers
    that liturgy of
    sorrow the stench
    of maggot meat
    the black rose
    of despair
    that bouquet
    cindering inside
    his chest
    those tears
    like kerosene

    was enough

    i am ready to go
    he sighed

    when the party ended
    the last guest
    blowing him a kiss
    adieu my love
    the door creaking
    to a close the curtains
    ready to fall the final
    ovation the last bow

    alone in that room

    a candle flickers
    on top of a cake
    in a moment
    with just one breath
    so easy to snuff
    a life vanishes
    with just one gasp
    becoming smoke

    we burned his body
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