Will there be an afterparty?
Mother keeps telling me
to ignore
cemeteries in daylight.
( My morbid delight
at twenty-three. )
They startle all
those jesters
amusing
only themselves.
Well
even Dante does not
find gods
so funny anymore.
Oh, just dance,
boy dance.
Grind that monkey
into dust.
And bells ?
There will be bells,
hanging
from thunderclouds.
But do I hear
a little
tintinnabulation
emanating
off the stars ?
You're such a romantic, boy.
Keep it to yourself.
Damn, decay is so intrusive.
