and live in a mansion whose walls crawl with ivy. A trench coat on my skeleton.
I want to be dead in a necklace of gold teeth and start brush-fires on mountains.
Dead and kind, I’ll look so pretty.
Boys will park their red cars and tuck roses in my teeth.
Take me on dates, prop me in a plush booth.
Order a burger for you, salad for me. I’ll sit quiet in a wide-brimmed hat.
In the convertible’s front-seat, position my come-hither limbs.
I’ll nod and nod in the wind.
When you grow bored, bury me in silent earth.
I will return to life like an idiot, finally feared.