a dirge from beneath the dirt

hand printif it’s a winged effigy you want
a dirge from beneath the dirt
of someone
who tried to be someone
she died attempting to leap
through Saturn’s hoops
but the man in the moon
was not the gentleman he was purported to be
that guy plays a tripping low lit thief
stealing each day a bit more
whenever the sun grows tired
honor-bound roses
placed with tearful lips

(you know how she feels about flowers)
odiferous funeral parlors
thorny squatters on her cold headstone
with the audacity to die on the already dead
blood crimson of their selected petals
slapping her corpse with hues no longer pumping
she is most certainly a shade of soft blue by now
like the daytime sky
even at night

if she had lived her life
as a someone
her body would have been preserved
and all this could have been avoided
print back
bye, bye blackbird