Where will we put my ashes,
On some germanic hill perhaps,
where cold prussian winds burn like crisp black leather,
Alsace-lorraine,
or some disputed luxembourgian territory,
where they argue over my remains like good social-democrats,
where bombs dont drop,
because we need places to talk,
about not dropping bombs,.
where will we put my ashes,
will we bury them,
and when tribulation occurs,
will i rise like a swirl of black mist,
like a plague of powerless locusts,
choking people for seven years,
denied access to the basest of celestial pleasure,
my formlessness,
subjecting me to a forever bastardy.
where will we put my ashes,
Will we find a tree,
in some soporific afghani forest,
where the natives wear burkas and scraggly beards,
a question asked in there wrinkled faces,
as the poppie fields catch fire,
and the cartels change form before our eyes,
gold plated 45's dropped in the flame of American friendship.
where will we put my ashes,
will we wrap it in sheaves,
of warped poetry written by unknown and dead heroes,
men whose lives passed like tanks in a General Patton nightmare,
eventful and full of choking conflagrations,
all of which,
took place in a grocery store checkout line.
where will we put my ashes,
when the dream comes to an end,
when all the clouds are tinged with blackened platinum,
when you can hear the gunshots in the suburbs,
when everyones hungry,
when we are truly communist,
because we have no choice.
where will we put my ashes?,
why not ask where we are going to put yours?
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Submission Name: Grab the stop sign and shake with all your might
