Even When You Die (Or, Why I Lost my Wedding Ring but I Still Love my Wife)

Even when you die….
You know, it’s everything we asked for, the light, the boom, the sugar highs, the car crash funerals….
Even when you die……
You know, it’s the slight ache from retreat….
I am hoping you will love me because I have nowhere else to go. My head is a homeless shelter,
My belly is the tumult of dead bones rolling across the darkest, deepest sea bed.
That’s my body. Even when you die.
You know, I called you the other day when I was in the shower.
I wanted to fuck you up so bad for what you did to me but all I could muster was an imaginary shower call. I gave it to you good, and you cried, and you welcomed me back.
Even when you die….
My heart brings the ash of a thousand unfinished cigarettes quashed as break came to an end.
Those calls don’t make themselves.
I once negotiated a 5-magazine package with an elderly woman that only wanted me to tell her it was pretty cool she was once a Zigfield folly, even though, sadly, she probably never was one….stolen valor…
Even when you die…..
You know, I don’t want to watch paint dry anymore, but I am afraid if I look away, the paint won’t fucking dry. I know it.
Even when you die….
Even when you die, my friends….