Lately I’ve been thinking:
what if at the moment of
death, the final vision
they say we will all have,
what if the last thing
my collapsing brain
remembers is a scene
from a very bad movie?
So, rather than
memories of loved ones
shaping themselves
oasis-like as my body
deconstructs itself,
gasping like a shocked
land swept fish,
instead scenes from
Ishtar, Heaven’s Gate,
and The DaVinci Code
form before me,
choking my failing consciousness
with the meaninglessness
of bad acting.
To remedy this
I intend for
bottomless women
to dance loudly
around my deathbed.
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