suggestion for an arrangement

it would be nice to die at the typer instead of with my
ass stuck into some hard bed pan.

I visited a writer friend in the hospital who was dying
inch by inch
in the most terrible way
possible.
yet during each visit
(when conscious) he continued to
talk to me
about his
writing (not as an accomplishment but
as a magic obsession)
and he didn’t mind my
visits because
he knew I understood exactly what he was
saying.

at his funeral
I expected him to rise from his
coffin and say, “Chinaski,
it was a   good run, well
worth it.”

he never knew what I looked like
because before I met him
he had become blind
but he knew I
understood
his slow and terrible
death.

I told him one time that
the gods were punishing him because
he wrote so
well.

I hope that I never write that
well, I want to die with my head down on this
machine
3 lines from the bottle of the
page
burnt-out cigarette in my
fingers, radio still
playing

I just want to write
just well enough to
end like
that.

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