"What I'm Working Into My Memorial Service"

For Democracy includes a twenty one gun salute
Of a somewhat unconventional sort.
Touch me, be sure i won't be running away
From this or any other denouement
In the trash-choked alley of our actionable intelligence.
The mine that took off the messenger's foot
Cleanly, leaving a wound the shape of Regis Philbin's grin,
Was set there before the beginning of Time
By the same God who gave us fake fossils to pore over
In bafflement, & Red-Assed Baboons for masters.

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