The Death

When I was a baby I could close the world

Up in fleshy pink mitts

Now the world flays the infant palms

And the bones drip out in its spitWhen I was small I reached up so high

And grasped at the morning star

Now the wormwood topples down on me

And smashes all my partsWhen I was a child my bones spread out

Like peacock feathers alive

Now the feathers wilt like cancerous boils

Leaving sagging pores in my hideWhen I was of age I saw a gate so wide

And a path so broad for the taking

But the road to everything led to a cliff

Where I sprawled out naked and achingNow that I'm old I see the light

And I see it was never there

Everything leads to nothing

Nowhere and I don't even careI don't even care

I don't even care

I don't even care

I don't