all these songs have been writ by my hand
taken to the utmost rooftop of this holocaustic graveyard
of molten rock and endless trash
and thrown from the tombstone etched edge
to plunge beyond the sidewalk
through the rotting stench
into the soft green milk below
where it sinks
groan and bubble
where all the wormy bones rise up
picked clean and bright shining
ivory in the moonlight
were I to jump along with all my words
were I to fall upon engorged bowels
how long until the idea of me is eaten away?
how long until I sink
bubble and bloat
how long until I am nothing but a passing thought?
how long until the next body takes my place?