Elegy for Full Caskets by Matthew Musacchio

when i am to die, because there is no if in the matter,

whether it be two days or two hundred years,

may it be on this ground or out in technicolor stars

like bars on the rhythm of this mortal coil

where i am to return to the earth or the sky

or to whatever god has hold of the chain

around my neck giving me such

terrible mercies as to break it

snap it.

when i am to die, do not bury me in this sweet mother

the soft dark soil that is the bosom of Gaia proper,

improper to profane such beauty, such grace,

think of each and every lover we leave behind,

dont make them fall on our caskets

reaching once more tugging at our necks;

think of the pain a eulogy would bring

no, i wont do it i wont knowingly do it

so if you read in newsprint memoria

“they were loved and remembered, service at-“

fuck that, know that i wouldn’t want to lie

sallow in dark suit pinned by carnation and

why couldn’t they at least be roses

rising and falling on wailing chests

please, i beg,

If one person sees me in that suit

surrounded by pine, opining that i

left too young

it wasn’t my design

know that i wanted my heart strings plucked

placed in an urn

and wrapped in the velvet of this poem