"funny"

“funny"

written on a plane by jake kilroy.

blowing through town as mad as wind on a bender,

heels up on the rails of a city-wide waiting room,

where every artist lets the skyscrapers talk down to ‘em, 

i found myself waiting on women to touch my skull like a piano;

a cave-like church where soft presses on thoughts count

like rock art dolled up as a rare jackson pollock of daydreams.

colorful spirits still die here, don’t worry.

we just have better money for graves these days.

funny i don’t remember the funerals.

oh, what a breathtaking mausoleum for us to dance inside!

a carnival ride, the two of us, spinning colors

only seen when you get up too fast to see someone new,

here we come at the world like a tidal wave we sewed ourselves.

destiny was never only for ancient warriors.

it just makes for a less jealous audience.

all while wildflower crowns make for better use of battlefields,

we sneer at decaying lovers we only cherish

for the weapons they made us.

see, when i was young, i could hardly keep my eyes tucked in

for any new bedtime story that cracked ear to ear beyond

the two dozen good lines about an empty bed in flames.

funny i never saw any sequels.

but then my bones wore down

and my fingers slowed down

when finally i powered down,

and memories were no longer string theory.

hell, they were hardly even decor.

they became a stockpile,

making me a survivalist

in a one-man show.

funny way to throw a party.

even in another country,

alone in a splintering tavern,

i could say life came at me quick

and i held on for as long as i could

before it threw me into the sea

where i found the coast guard

and thought it was a pirate ship of mermaids.

funny way to exit the world, i imagine, 

curious, cackling, and crazy;

but always relentless,

forever sweating the truth.

at least do that.

at least die truthfully.