the los angeles poem in poetry

if I had the big money
if I had the stupid money
if I had the multi-millions
so much that I had millions left over
after the agents and lawyers and kids
I’d hire a passel of x-ray technicians
to take pics under all of my skin and
I get some 3-D printer guys or gals
to make a one-to-one model of my skeleton
and I’d just hang it in my closet
occasionally go look in and think
“this, this is what I’m gonna be one day”
“no matter how rich or famous I ever get”
“this is what I am gonna be one day”
maybe looking in upon it now and again
would remind me I was human
remind me to not have just yesmen for friends
not be driven insane by the insulating luxury
like Michael Jackson, Elvis or George Lucas
maybe I wouldn’t become such an asshole
maybe I’d keep doing good work
if I put a dozen thousand
on my fuck-you-millions
into owning an exact copy of my skeleton

remind me I’m a person
remind me everyone else still is too

after that, I’d probably have more made
I’d probably have a lot more made
but these wouldn’t be constructed of
3-D extruded plaster or plastic or
whatever my well-paid scientists
say will hold up for me best
no
all the rest
would be made out of candy

I’d have a cherry skeleton of myself
a lemon skeleton of myself
a strawberry skeleton of myself
and so on
probably not chocolate
chocolate would probably just melt
you know, like
shelf stable hard candy stuff

and when I wanted a little snack
I might nibble at the feet of my own
cherry candy skeleton
or for dessert I’d suck
on my own strawberry elbow
maybe if you’re visiting
to play my fifty-five pinball machines
I might come downstairs
in my fucking hoverchair
and offer you a lemon metacarpal

you’d have to eat it
to not would be just rude
to not would be absolutely gauche
I mean there you are
playing my Addams Family pinball deck
you should at least share a bit
in the sweet and sour admission
of everyone’s eventually death

hey
if you do
I’ll turn off the tilt