I'll bury your ashes out back-
Between the wheel barrel and the old Mac truck.
Where we started.
Among the spray paint hieroglyphics and busted glass.
I'll bury your ashes out back.
Dust in my eyes and clay under my fingernails,
I won't stop digging til the coffee can coffin
is a true six feet under.
I'll bury your ashes out back
and lay you beside the unmarked graves of children,
and a cat named Christmas,
and all of our good graces.
I'll bury your ashes out back,
under the pile of trash in the corner
where all the weeds grow thick
and wild.
I'll bury your ashes out back
as mourning prayers fall from my eyes,
I father, son and holy ghost you
into the rocks and the roots and the brickyard run off.
Ashes to ashes and rust to dust...
Out back- Hipster graveyard.
Covered in covetous vines.
I'll bury you.
