share just a few of my favorite poems and tell stories;
we also stop thinking; that I was an existentialist
and empiricist to the end,
was in my narrative too,
and my beautiful wife, Marilyn —
how much I enjoyed singing and playing
apple fritters, apple turnovers, apple pie
and, of course, my mother,
but not America’s hegemony, bigotry
and political insanity.
And that nights filled with stars,
wind chimes and crunching through leaves
And that it is old age who arrives
unannounced one day
and over stays his welcome.
and is not mine to keep,
because it now belongs to you.
So exaggerate just a little right now:
before I died, but that you
have since forgotten what it was,
though you think I might have whispered
Beethoven’s final words:
from my other poem about wishing to die
after I left an éclat to posterity.
Or was it something else I wanted to say?
A cliché perhaps?
is revealed through what we love.