Six Feet Under

A sweet pine tree scent grips the swift air As the wind blows through my untrimmed hair Tree’s leaves spring off limbs like suicide attempts Never to hit the ground below, life held in contempt Clouds scurry through the sky in search of its end Birds, airplanes, and mountains its must fend As I wait for a cold sack of emptiness to drop And lie forever bored as it rots As its lowered on a prop I see its top I say stop! Ok go.