2015-04-30

詩 This Body

This body by which I can be said to exist
Is in a weary slide to decrepitude
A cruel joke by Darwin or God or whomever
Mollified by the fact that I grow tired of it
Return to halcyon youth a mere pipe dream

Will future people be more carefree, or less
Because their minds are backed up to tape
Their worn-out android body parts replaced?

Or will they fear death more than we
Because they can look it in the eye
Untrammeled by myths of life-after-death
The cloying layers of denial that cloak us?

A tape warehouse fire, like the flames of Hell
Consuming souls, now truly damned
Their hopes for resurrection, for eternal life
Dashed by ham-handed tape monkeys
Mislabeling the sepulcres of their tape reels
Or forgetting to push the "rewind" button



April is National Poetry Writing Month

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