Apoptosis
I will be an inconvenience from now on.
We die like cells, politely; we gather ourselves in.
We fold our organs up in clean canopic packages
in waxed white paper labeled kidneys lungs etcetera.
Our empty fair and unpolluted shapes
are neatly boxed to go.
Enough, enough, enough. Start dying ugly.
O let's be terrible as staring wings.
When stars die,
they burst their insides out
so should we
so should we make it bitter arsenic and vomit choke up apples black and bloated tongues and fear
and fear us, gentlemen.