grave tending i pull the weeds out of the keyboard. draft an email to god in which i tell him we should be allowed to choose the mug our spirit goes into. that is the only explanation i can think of for how many coffee mugs exist in our house. they are the returned spirits of revenge seekers. i buy weed killer & spray a sigil into the lawn. now there's a portal to hell. portals are not all they're cracked up to be. mostly, i just watch as whales come & go from the soil. sigh. if only i owned a graveyard. i would go out there every day & read to the dead. i would say "story time" & bring the hungry caterpillar or maybe where the wild things are. all ghosts are bisexual. it's just a fact. i get on my knees. fake flowers are the highest dishonor you could give a loved one. i yank them from the throat of a tombstone. what the dead need are graphics cards & motherboards. they want to play computer games. they're bored. if you're going to go with flowers you have to plant them. you have to push their baby toes into the soil & say, "make the dead happy." overall, the dead are not happy. many of them hoped for an afterlife & all they get is the kind of lingering that a july storm leaves in the minutes after it stops. sticky. humid. but never ending. i tell them, "i am here" & "i am your mother now." yes, i would be a great grave tender. the television is full of eels. i flick it on to watch a video of myself falling asleep. do you feel like a game inside a game? i do but i shake it off & eat some microwave vegetables & kick my shoes off by the door.