On Death
I never did grasp the vision of a body interred in ground,
the fabulous box, chrome handles, velvet interior,
all to encapsulate the rotting corpse of who I used to be
why not flame, the elixir of all things passed,
why not a funeral pyre around which dancing
might occur, a celebration rather than a mourning?
but then I do not believe in rebirth, the body risen
in new form with the same soul, same karma,
unfinished business of an unknown stranger
I see more a return to the depths, an oceanic
forgiveness of non-identity, merging with all
that has been, and ever will be, forever, forgotten
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