there’s a shovel in my foot digging my grave

or the graves of some brothers & sisters i’ve yet to meet

it’s hard to dig a grave, if you have never tried

mud is not like dirt is not like sand is much like flesh

flesh falls from the bone, you should know

you do it every day, some of you eat your own

ruminating the worms, the spiders, the pile of fingernails

seldom i find a wedding ring or a bff charm, mostly teeth

my parents ask me to dig their graves but i tell them

right now i can’t, there are too many others who need rest

people like kids who will never make it to high school

moms&dads of freshly born babies, freshly born babies, freshly born babies, freshly born

people tied to truth and justice and breathing, people

just minding their own goddamn fucking business

it’s hard to bury people who are younger and smaller than you

trust me they have more weight than any other body on the market

it’s hard to bury love & lovers, batches of no-names or worse even

a collection of non-white corpses still singing in their sleep

plant nightshades next to rotting bodies if you want to grow quickly

i’ve never tasted one, but i’ve heard good things

it’s hard to dig a grave, but someone’s gotta do it

someone’s gotta send off the good ones with a banner & a parade