When I have returned to dust, br recall me, but not the genuine me; br no, leave that shrinking, purple- br prosing violet be. Instead visit br the giddy governess of Cagliari, br permit her pie-eyes to expound br upon our bacchic escapades, br my shelfworn banalities br and grey-whiskered anecdotes. br She'll recount in platitudes with her br characteristic twists on them. br br br Arouse my drinking buddies br to spew about my pseudo-impressions. br Dig up the groundskeeper br and he'll likely kick up the dust br of how we conversed on a daily basis. br Let everyone know how I pretended br to enjoy the company of that charlatan br novelist who resided down the street. br br br But most importantly, tell them br about the overzealous scarecrow br attendants during Long Beach br retreats with accents as flat as tortillas, br tailored in high-strung fashions, relating br all those Sunday afternoons that I br compared notes with the likes br of Leonard Cohen, John Updike, br S. J. Perelman, and Groucho Marx br at the famous Chelsea Hotel. br br br Speak about my wild, unkempt br hair, garish garb and ecclectic br taste in music and art; however, br never mention in Montréal nor br in Athens that you annoyed me br on more than one occasion br with your sycophantic behaviour, br so I repeatedly kicked your shin.. br br br When I have indeed departed, br far beyond all this earthly misery, br allow just about anything to be br said, everything except the truth. br No one ever got to know the real me. br I was the jester of no one. br Delinquency gave me daring br on the wrong side of forty-five, br and cowardice in my greener days. br br br br br rev.020708br br Gregory Wm.