You fantasize
that you will be a dead man
fully conscious
after your departure
feeling
only a bit different
clearly disembodied
but able to hear everything 
they’re saying about you
It’s all so nice
All pleasant
You were a capital fellow
a real peach

No 
Sorry

They’re going to be angry
angry as picadors
wanting to stick your bull
till it bleeds

It won’t matter
whether you do it yourself
with a tool or weapon
or whether you do it yourself
with food or a drug or a mistake
Everyone will know
you did it yourself
and they’re never going to say
anything nice about you
I promise

No
Bull-boy
You may think you are beefy
and everyone will dine well
after you go but

the bull
is always forgotten
in favor of 
the matador
who stands and fights
wins and is loved or
dies fighting
and is loved

suppose you close your eyes
and think about who you see
when you are asked to see

a rude one
a hipshaker one
one on the burning decks

a band member
with a lone snare
with a box full of twiddly knobs

suppose you describe

a good singer
with a holiday voice
with an everyday scream

a gamer
a headphoner
someone banging a stickered painted guitar

suppose you picture

a black bloc ninja
with a hot hand
with a brick

a mystery photographer
a fresh young disturber
a breaker mid-spin

suppose you came upon

a salt-well digger
a good cop
a rough shaman

a dog teacher
a horse doctor
a fat welder

suppose you open your eyes
suppose you say now who you saw
in each case

was it a boy
in each case
a girl in each case

did you see
any men
any women

did it get
all mixed up
in your head

did you ever not choose
a boy or a girl
did you ever resist

did you ever see
yourself
or a loved one

did it ever change
mid-picture
is it changing now