This sort of sounds like a song. I can so imagine you pickin' up a guitar and totally jammin' with this thing. That's my awkward way of telling you its good. I like the imagery a lot. Wish I could say something more specific and constructive, but picking this poem apart feels like eating a sugar scullpture . . .you just want to leave it in its gorgeous entirety, even if you know you aren't appreciating every facet of it.

¿How do we make our own museum,

So it is not a mausoleum?

Even in a garden atrium,

Brown dirt starts forming alluvium.

So, pack it with a smile,

Make a tall pile for fire,

With pictures of desire,

And, all that does inspire,

Then perhaps this mish-mosh effluvium,

Will give us ecstatic delirium,

As we dream of green grass in Ilium,

& Delirious lose all equilibrium.