in the style of poetry
to which we are accustomed,
uncapitalized and with line
breaks:i’m going to stab death in his idiot
skull with an ice pick and leave
him swaying back and forth
pinned to the big-ass tree outsidetrying to sound sonorous
despite the whistly sound of wind in
his ventilated spinal cord, which
i forgot to mention,
i ventilated his spinal cord
also with the ice pickwhich would paralyze him
were there anything to paralyze,
so the tree thing is my stopgap
for immobilizing him,
as no one expects to be nailed
to a treehe will say something about needing him
and something about the shadow of
humanity, or the abyss of meaning,
he will squall and sob from his
dense, selfish eye sockets
too good for the flesh he wants us inand children will be encouraged to
throw baseballs. i will charge admission
to the resting site of that
crusty tool,but, like, a buck.
Tags:
#poetry #transhumanism #death tw #joking but also not joking
