First Edit: Wannabe/Death of a Poet

[Todd]

Richard, this has some great elements to it.  Your phrasing draws me in. I love "weight of the soil," "lipless teeth trying to smile," the "rotting brain tells the worms," and "dying breath in the night."

All so very good. Where I bogged down is in the overabundance of similes. They feel stacked one on top of the other. Could you maybe smooth some of them out into metaphor? Each one individually is fine. The whole of them though draws too much attention to the effect and away from the content. If that makes sense.

Just some thoughts.

Best,

Todd

Wannabe

I fantasize,
like a teenager dreams about sex,
that they'll name an award after me.
I imagine myself
beneath the weight of soil,
my lipless teeth trying to smile.
I imagine my rotted brain tells the worms
with each bite they take.
I imagine my eye sockets feel useful again,
their legacy summed up in a name.
I then pretend
to forget the elegies, the dirges,
they require too much effort
like life.

But I know,
like an old man who closes his eyes for the last time,
there is no man-made immortality:
all names are eventually lost
like a dying breath in the night.