Bury me Standing

 When I die

 bury me standing;

 don’t lay me flat,

 stretched out on my back

 staring up into the night sky,

 stand me straight,

 plant me upright,

 plant me like a tree,

 bury me with dignity.

 When I die

 bury me standing,

 make sure you put boots

 on my naked feet

 so I cannot feel

 the worms feasting,

 so as I stand I can see

 what is happening around me.

 I’ll be dead for a long, long time

 so stand me upright

 not flat, like stinking meat

 on a cold, hard slab

 waiting for butcher Fate,

 with his bloodied apron

 to slice me asunder.

 Stand me up,

 push my lips into a grin,

 stick a pen in my hand,

 paper in the other;

 let me stand facing sunrise

 with a thousand new poems

 ready for the capture.

 When I die

 don’t listen to the undertaker

 stand me straight,

 drop me down deep;

 let me face the future

 as if I was still in the wings

 waiting for my cue

 to make another grand entry.