Verdant crypts exhale,
dew beads fuse—serrate hymns sung
in hush-gilded tongues.

When I die
I wish to be
recycled

Cut up into pieces
of useful and useless
parts
and distributed
where I'm needed
most

To serve the world
one
final
time


When I die
I don't want a coffin
Or to be dressed up and posed
as if I am sleeping
For we all know I am not sleeping

I do not want to be burned
Or preserved by chemicals that only
delay
the inevitable

I want to be a part of nature's
cycle
To be eaten by my arthropod friends
and torn apart by wild things and scavengers
To assist proudly in medicine, science, and nutrition
for all the world's species

When I die
Do not bury my body
For I no longer inhabit it

Cast that rotting sack of flesh aside
and use it for good

When I die
do not mourn me
Do not say
"rest in peace"
for I am not resting
Do not say
"gone but not forgotten"
For I am not gone, and will soon be forgotten here

When I die
Celebrate all of the memories
The good and the bad
Tell all my secrets
Read all my poems and letters
Perhaps you will finally understand me

Wilt clots in the folds,
petal-blush drips bruised and sweet,
beauty—too full, spills.

.

*If I were a poem
I’d ask you to fold me up
and put me in your pocket,
then at the end of the week,
toss me in the wash
with the rest of the clothes

And when you find me later,
smudged and smeared,
ripped and tattered into
little unrecognizable pieces,
don’t worry about it,
I was already like that