In death, I'm a recyclable,
my gut biome will gnaw its way
out of me like Ripley's Alien -
if on a microscopic scale.
Agents of the Destroyer will
turn my tissues into food bits
to feed some other animal.
Yes, I am inescapably
animal - inescapably
in transformation from living
to not...
This may seem morose, but is it?
He who can imagine a dog
cracking open his bones to eat
away all the marrow --
without an inner cringe, or wince --
is a person who knows freedom.
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awesome sketch of reality!
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Very well-expressed!
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