No final bill

I want to die like Li Bai trying to embrace the reflection of the moon in the river;
Or I want to die like Hart Crane throwing myself overboard an ocean liner in a fit of passion;
I would even be willing to shoot myself in the head like Earnest Hemingway, if I had to;
or take poison like George Sterling;
I would be happy, sort of, falling down stairs and breaking my neck;
well, with a drink or two in me;
I wouldn't like it a lot, but it would be okay to be shot by robbers or blown up by terrorists.
But, oh! I just don't want to die in a hospital bed surrounded by the latest blinking, bleeping electronic gadgets of the medical profession with a nurse asking, "How are we doing?" and an accountant down the hall calculating the final bill.
—Louis Martin