The buried man who like a nail goes in
and disappears with intention
wears the earth like a cloak.
It was just after dawn when I woke up.
The paper moon lamp we never turned off
shrunken in the bloom of daylight's soft
glory, as it piece by piece paints
your room, your things, your arms, your face.
Put your flowers on me.
Lay your flowers on me.
Put your flowers on me.
Lay your flowers on me.
For a minute like that I watched you,
the blankets braided beige and blue
like snakes you'd wrestled til dead.
I thought I might kiss you, but left instead
and sunk myself into my day
like a shovel. To stay away
from love is impossible. It's like
I'm a moth and you're the brightest light
on the block. But if I could bury
myself in myself, like you in those carrion
snakes, there would still be my stone
you could come and talk to when you felt alone.
Put your flowers on me.
Lay your flowers on me.
Put your flowers on me.
Lay your flowers on me.
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