Burial

Flowers, bring them women
Lament and weep on the graves of the dead
Cut flowers and pull out your hair --unplug it at the roots.

Coffee, brew it freshly dark, women
Fresh with painted laughter and vicious fantasies
of young cologne and dried up summer nights.

Get naked, women
of all the color and life in you
and water with color, the chalk of the sagged bones.

Lose your rails, women
For we left you the epitomes of misery
Sadness will  draw lines beneath your snow rimmed cheeks

For he, small lies
and lies on a pillow red
He, a beautiful stiff cardboard.

Flowers, bring them forth, women
weep the living
dead.