Bury Me With My Files

Bury me with my files,
a half-empty bottle of Crown Royal
and my car keys.
Bury me with my Blackberry,
my university diploma,
and my last federal tax return.
Bury me with the TV remote control I held so close,
my guitar tuner and the novel
I was reading but could never finish.
Bury me with some cash, it meant so much.
Bury me wearing the shirt I wore too often
and refused to throw away,
and the pants you said
made me look fat.
Bury me with my glasses.
Bury me in expensive socks.
Bury me with a shovel and pail
because I didn't have a green thumb
and a hammer and some nails
because I was all thumbs.
Bury me with a Donnie Iris LP
because sometimes I had an itch that only he could scratch.
Bury me with an 8-track tape of Crime of The Century
and the Letters to the Editor I wrote
and my favourite hat that said 
"The Future Is Now".
Bury me with whatever you can unearth
from my past.
Bury me with my passwords.
Bury me with my files.
Bury me with lies.

Bob Dylan Nobel Laureate

But is it Literature? And does it matter?

Pigeon

for Dimitri Nasrallah

A pigeon is dying in my backyard
Watching it is very hard
Her wings are broken, feathers torn
I've never seen one so forlorn
And in my heart the helplessness
Feels too close I must confess
I want to scream, It's undeserved
For a creature harmless and reserved
To suffer this predicament
Is unjustified I lament
If there’s a God possessing mercy
He’d relieve her of her misery
And then as if my prayer is heard
A cat arrives and devours the bird.

Leonard Cohen the Myth, The Man

Wherein I recently participated in a panel discussion on Between The Pages.