I’d love to hang around
after I’ve died to hear
all the nice things
they say about me
watch each attendee take in my acclaim
like sweet cream drowning day-old coffee
taste the over-sugared donuts of praises
marginally stale definitely expired
swallow that tasty scramble of compliments
that hides so many broken shells
a breakfast anyone might
nicely tip in a dream
but leave a nickel
under a napkin
if the menu honestly listed
all the ingredients
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