DEATH COMES

Death comes for us all.
The bell tolls for us all.
Am I telling you anything you couldn't
learn from Elmo or Cookie Monster?
Buy eggs. Break them.
You have to break eggs to make cookies.
Let's have a tea party on Mars.
All the cool fuckers will be there.
Gary Gilmore knew what the fuck
was up in taco town.
Don't play coy with muerte.
Look it in the eye as the cowbell clangs.
So sexy.
So romantic.
So Wuthering Heights.

Maybe it was a prophetic dream I had
in 2008 while living in the crack whore shack
in Nederland, Texas.
I needed and needed and did not have.
So in the dream I was with all these Mexicans
in a warehouse similar to Walmart
but without all the shit
and when my name was called
and I was standing on the loading dock
facing the border patrol pigs with the rifles
aimed in my direction
I spread my arms, said, "Make pretty red berries."

Death was nada.
I was liberated at long last
soaring over El Rio Grande.

The point ain't to make it to 100.
Chuck Norris will confirm this
and so would Lane Frost
and so would Luke Perry.

Joe Pachinko! 
Save me a seat in the karaoke lounge 
that never closes.