It's A-OK When You Dedicate to Me

From Brent's poem "Christmas Comes, a Train Wreck" (For Rebecca Livingston -- Woo-hoo!)

. . . Incite your kissings at the neighbors, and
leave me like Frost to ponder
a more permanent solace:
snowbank under a field of stars,
last breath an angel
with a clear shot at heaven.
But I have miles to run before I sleep,
and even thought I look great in blue,
I won't put on that suit tonight!

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This is cool for two reasons. One, it's about Christmas and that's my birthday (in these parts we call it Rebeccamas) and that makes me happy -- even if the speaker is thinking suicide on that day. I know, I know, it's always all about me, isn't it? Two, it references my poem, "Nostalgia," (a tender retelling of an uncle instructing little children on the best way to kill themselves):

. . . Leave the planet as you arrived,
with a soft bluish tinge to your skin.
Try not to quiver; sing a nursery rhyme while she does her work.
The warmer you get,
the closer you’ll be.

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Now all this manuscript needs is a little skullfucking and it'll be perfect.

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