I’ll forego the last rites
the triage too
I’ll call my own demise:
Someday, true
I’m hoping I don’t make
too much of the future
call me old fashioned
but I’ll skip the suture
of post-human corpus
on this tired old flesh
I’d rather bow out
while my act’s still fresh
but I’ll probably go
in rust and entropy
fall slowly apart
no doubt you won’t see me
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