Funeral

pink gunshot wound cherry petals
cover concrete streets and line
the damp drainage ditches
half-clogged arteries

the trees thump to life as march turns
to april and quick as they spring
up they’re ready to die

japan holds big parties for impermanent things,
viewing full moons with bottles of fermented
revelry
and toss beans at the devil
from high balconies

and I slurp noodles
for
the new year and
sing for my ghosts,
as the drink pulls us forward
as the trains take us home

by levers and wheels we are
pushed to our boxes, our hearts
pump together, our hearts stop alone