The uppity cemetery thinks
that it will have me completely.
Like a lover who put me in
the coffin of his need.
I leave the coffin and head
for a bar which makes
killer martinis. I can’t skip
dying, but I can skip the graveyard,
my ashes snugging in
a rose bush. The cemetery
will stick its marble tongue out
at me. I’ll squeeze my soul
into a tongue and stick it
right back.