Let Me Be Dead at My Funeral
When I am dead
Honor me with a funeral
Wear macabre gowns
Darkened rags
Sprinkle bread crumbs on my corpse
For the ravens
to cock their heads
No celebration here
Sweep not the fallen leaves
Cheer nothing that looks miserable
Shroud every photo in vignette
Circle red the date
Howl it to the moon
Mope, sloth, slush
If you must set something free
Spare the doves, the balloons
Let it be mice
From their pet store cage
Still the sun beams
Stop the clocks
Break their little arms if you must
For speeding sorrow is not the thing to do
No celebration here
When dawn breaks
And the first grass melts
Melting it’s icy rigor mortis
Let the light crack you a smile
As you imagine where I might first haunt
The clanking pipes
A mirror
A hollow tree
A dreadful fart for the pesky neighbor
That will be something to celebrate