Pick Me Chaos Theory

1.
The Seattle Art Museum's fresco looks like
Bill Murray. Maybe it was a portrait
of a Bill Murray look alike or maybe
it was the man himself. I could speculate
all night, calculate the odds his likeness
would have survived the wars, the natural
progression of decay, the changing of hands,
but I've got my own problems and they won't
fix themselves.

2.

I need to build a time machine.
It's the only way I can be sure
I won't fade into obscurity.
I'll check up on my own funeral
after delivering by best works,
guessing the year based on
how many drinks I've had
before switching the dials.
If everything goes right, it will
be a costume funeral. I'll be a ghost
and so will my corpse. We'll both laugh.

3.

I want a poet's corpse. That is
to say a meaningful death or one
described as beautifully as...
anything, really,
so long as it's remembered.
Pablo Neruda could narrate it in Spanish,
the music would swell,
and the people would exit the theatre.

4.

For a moment, when the room fills with light,
I think about what I am leaving behind;
the people, but mostly what will happen to my stuff
if left unattended too long. We hurry out
of the theater, not knowing whether it will be hot
or a sunny day. Whether we will be below
or above the earth. We just want to escape
the artifice we leave behind.
Everything becomes a memento mori.