One day I’ll learn how to breathe underwater
and plunging to the bottom of the bay won’t be such a problem
and I’ll linger down there,
because it’s dark and simple,
just like me.
And I’ll shake the hands of murdered drug dealers with bad judgment and cement feet
and their water logged smiles will tell me that they know something I don’t,
that maybe being dead is funny
and then I’ll know
that if being dead is funny,
then being alive
must be fucking hilarious.