Light Leaves (WHY?)

Each of these old light leaves is dirt, Barely held together by Tiny bone hands that used to be alive Holding hands Loose gripped At the deja vu dream scene end Of a lifelong relationship These light leaves Is my hair on the bathroom floor, My smaller selves down the sewer somewhere, Under berkeley, Cincinnati, or on tour Airplane rear And hotel lobby ladies rooms: beware, As these light leaves bagged up in plastic, Never to decompose or fertilize When my balls are finally big enough to do it I don't want no casket, no saddle, No seethrough plastic mask, No casket, no saddle, No seethrough plastic mask And when I finally do it I wanna do the dirt Like the dead leaves do And if you do leave the earth When the earth leaves you cold and hard as a marble table top With nothing on top, There's no hip-hip-hop-hooray Keeping Heaven's golden-barbed gateway, No bright confetti hearts, death march, ticker tape parade There's no mound of clouds to lounge on, No mound of clouds to lounge on