I croak on Memorial Day &
only the frogs are gathered round my
deathbed, singing of crocodiles & snakes/ my

body goes to medical science where
they cut out my heart for the study of black
heartedness/ they find the blackness but the

heart is long gone/ they check my family to
see what's happened to my heart, but nobody
recalls that I was part of the family, &

even when wiping the blood from their
mouths, they claim they were eating the
heart of Bab's the babboon, but nobody knows

my name, unless I was the stillborn
aardvark several centuries ago/ the family
boiled & ate his little corpse while singing

"America the Beautiful" they agree, but
no one remembers me/ they do recall having
murdered a Mongoloid child & chopping his

gonads into the salad, but those were the
salad days, & their memories are in a haze, because
then they lost it all in the crash & had to eat

Mongoloid hash, & the last they recall is
cipher like me; so I give it all up &
seek out my friends, & am

standing in an empty field too
arid to yield anything at all/ it's
after the fall, & there is no friend, not

even one!/ I'm
alone & life is done/ I
take out my gun &

fire it into my brain, but
it's vanished like my heart/ they
won't even take me in the death cart to

be buried enmasse with Mozart, but
the music is also gone too
the very last song/ like

Mozart's & Fred Hammy's art, which
is dead like God, rotting
beneath the sod, &

thus I fart to
have my stench lost in the wind
leaving nothing, like

nothing at all, or the
void of Mergatroid in
which we sink beyond our

stink, with
one last wink &
we're gone

gone

gone ...

!

Fritz Hamilton