When they buried me they put all my statuesIn the very ditch in which I was to be put.Next they put in my estate,Then my eagles, followed by my horses.Then my telephone, my raiment, and my whips,Then my sons and my nephews.
Next they put the soldiers in that ditch, too.They put my dogs, then my telescope, my bicycle,And my favorite eating chair,My cushion, my geographers, my cousins,My skulls, my best singers. . .They lowered in my favorite books of verse,My bathtub, my livestock, my precious stones.They lowered in my arms and my legsAnd folded me in thirds.They lowered in my chamber,My fortress, my helicopter,My bees, my armies, my scents, my rakes.
They gently put in my stomach, my genitals,And all the beauty of this realmAnd the realm itself.And then the cosmos and the formsAnd the gods and all of timeAnd all the loveThat was meant for me and me alone.From here it would start anew.
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Photo by Iswanto Arif on Unsplash