In The Event Of My Demise

When at last the bard wakes in a vacuum

Pick my words one by one
Like an African woman
Picks stones from the locally made rice
But do it in a different way
Like you are picking rice out of the stones
After that
Parboil it hot in the heat of your thoughts
Wash it clean
And cook it with the necessary ingredients
Not forgetting the seasoning of diction
Have a taste when it's done
Is the meal okay?
Serve me to the world
To satisfy the hungered
Let the ration of the outlaw in my neighborhood
Be given from the plate of love
Make sure he have a sip from the cup
Filled with the wine of changes!