Let my poems be my grave
Each word hugging the coffin
As stray syllables fall as dirt
Graffitiing the coffins lid
Leaving a legacy of mud
From which flowers grow
Into gardens with trees
As big as houses
Bringing shelter for your children
A wall to scratch their names into
Showing they were here

Skinny arms grow muscles
Watch as they climb
And turn sinew to wings
Gnarled toes to claws
To perch on the tower

and watch

The world and his wife
Go by hand in hand
Fingers tucked together
With a little dirt until the fingernails
Leading a trail to my grave

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