How you come to see me when I die,
dressed in rags or sables...

I tell people,
If I produce one good poem a week...

Aunt Sis,
who I think really was my mother...

They meet for coffee
once a month on the fifteenth...

It takes two years to kill yourself,
to get to the point you don't care anymore...

She became her mother
who'd throw a monkey wrench...

I'm sure he welcomed death when it came.
Knowing what was going on in his life...

She yells up to me.
She's leaving for work...

He knew what was happening
seen it once before. 'His old man...

No they won't learn from your mistakes,
gain from your personal experiences...

I eat from an approve food list,
weight myself each morning...

It came to me
while I slept...