funeral w/o gender

they will say [     ] was a good [     ].
we tape obituaries to our foreheads
& walk around trying to guess
the causes of night. how
one day there was a [     ]
standing in a father's mouth
& now there is just a body.
i want to be remembered 
by whatever my bones will say. 
i want scientists & historians & 
girls with portals in their hands
to argue about what my flesh means.
some people would be distraught by this
& i understand that but i love to be
the troubled gender. the one without
a mouth. follow in the traditions
of an illegible lineage. was [     ]
really a [     ]? or was [     ] a [     ]?
as if there are enough holes 
in the sky to find an answer.
the dead cut out their own tongues.
it is the last ritual before 
departing one life to begin the next.
i am told by the worms 
that there is time for a verdant rest.
someone holding just my skull.
my jaw as rusted as the back screen door. 
tell me what you think you know.