what i call the dirt

bury me so far, down, i can’t 
yearn for the sky, 
and familiarize myself 
with the names of the dirt 
that surrounds me
but please don’t mention the holes at my funeral.
(don’t mention the names either.
don’t mention my apparent lack of yearning.)
don’t write it in my obituary. 

don’t give me a headstone,
i can’t bear if it were to crack.
just dirt. I cannot move my
restless body, forever.

— Zeke Cooksey-Voytenko