the dead
There are many days I worry about the dead. All our ideas of death usually center around the dead not having a lot of fun. What was it Woody Allen said about death? I am not afraid of death, I just don't want to be there when it happens. But how do we know? But how do we know anything?
I love cafes! "I'd only cheat on you
with the dead." Where else could I overhear
that but here? Who wouldn't want the dead? Who
doesn't feel sorry for them now? Like we're
so sure, we know. We know and we all sneer
and scoff at the dead. No sex! No passion!
They just watch us. Endlessly! Death makes mere
voyeurs of us all … unless … everyone
dead has so much wild hoopla, corporal fun,
cheap thrills, that they can't be bothered with us.
We, the Whining — I mean, Living — who shun
the dead. We who cannot even discuss
love or what happens next without making
things up. We who claim to love everything.