bury me with valentino

Bury me, with music and words,

drunk and high at the bottom

of a haunted canyon where the ghost
of a super-nova will come out
from hiding in my heart to share
a spiked frappuccino with Harry Houdini.

Bury me with soul-mates and
we’ll do the hula-hula shuffle,
rockumentary style, and play like
childhood pirates in time-bomb volcanoes
with Janis Joplin and other wasted dreamers.

Bury me with Van Gogh’s visions of all
the photograph’s I never took, and
all the dreams that never woke to attack
the day and race with all the
self-fulfilled prophecies and pain that
thrive in a world obsessed with
controlling my mind like some sorta
science fiction ray-gun that I used to
use from the tops of trees…
where I used to fly.

Bury me in a pool of finger paints and
wildfire that never stops believing in
her love that comes to me over and
over again like Technicolor waves
in a silent dream, where the camera is free
to dance from all angles without the
burden of sound to bring us down
to a skid-row scene where
Lulu kissed Pandora goodbye.

Bury me surrounded by our screams
of unburdened, un-named ecstasy that
are proudly represented by a calliope
organ and a player named Fred, who likes
to call himself Valentino…And
why the hell not!

Bury me with Valentino when he dies
and we will rise as one heart beating for
one moment that will last forever in one dream
that dances the waltz in a mosh-pit…no matter
how much we bleed or get punched in
the gut, we keep on keepin’ on how we
wanna keep on, forever kissing her tears away
in a broken hearted fantasy where
there’s no such thing as wasted dreamers
and love is as simple as penny candy.