when i die
     please
     cut out my obituary
     with your fancy

     jagged-edge scissors

     and cross out the unnecessary words
     to make your own poem


     start riots in
     shopping mall food courts
     in the name of grief


     arrive at the funeral
     several sheets to the wind,
     wearing
     violent
     shades of
     red,

     hollering boisterous tales of our
     most outrageous scandals and adventures

     threaten to cremate me
     yourself, right there,
     with your last cigarette


     laugh hysterically at
     the nice things
     the sharply-dressed men
     are saying

        stage-whisper,
          "well, that's certainly one way to describe her" and
          "that's putting it a bit lightly, don't you think" and
          "i'm sure she'd say 'thank-you for that very kind bald-faced lie,'

                    but she
                    unfortunately

                    died"


     hand out
     sharpies;

     encourage people to
     graffiti my pale skin


     poke fun
     at how
     in life, i'd never ever
     stayed that still
     or looked that pretty



     spike the hors d'œuvres
     with
     hallucinogens

     and
     methylenedioxymethamphetamine



     play loud
     foreign
     electropop

     encourage
     the
     mourners
     to dance