Light Leaves

Each of these old light leaves is dirt,

Barely held together by

Tiny bone hands that used to be alive

Holding hands

Loose gripped

At the deja vu dream scene end

Of a lifelong relationship

These light leaves

Is my hair on the bathroom floor,

My smaller selves down the sewer somewhere,

Under berkeley, cincinatti, or on tour

Airplane rear

And hotel lobby ladies rooms: beware,

As these light leaves bagged up in plastic,

Never to decompose or fertilize

When my balls are finally big enough to do it

I don't want no casket, no saddle,

No seethrough plastic mask,

No casket, no saddle,

No seethrough plastic mask

And when i finally do it

I wanna do the dirt

Like the dead leaves do

And if you do leave the earth

When the earth leaves you

Cold and hard as a marble table top

With nothing on top,

There's no hip-hip-hop-hooray

Keeping heaven's golden-barbed gateway,

No bright confetti hearts, death march, ticker tape parade

There's no mound of clouds to lounge on,

No mound of clouds to lounge on