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After I was diagnosed
My body Was hoisted above the city. Confetti clips stretched my fragments From mountain to mountain, My mosaic Gray with gristle, white with bone, Pink With arterial cherry blossom. The Committee on Public Decency Complained About certain aspects of the view. And so I dominated, A threat which might fall But maybe not. Later, I lost the limelight, My public distracted By beached whales, biowar babies, Chicken flu plague threats, Ponzi scheme panics, Giraffe-flavored liquorice fritters And alcoholic concrete. Then hobbyists discovered My connectivity. Riddled with illicit junctions, I am alive with bootleg MP3s, Swarming with patent contests, Amok with litigation. My head is a public telephone. God broadbands in and asks me for my wisdom. Which is this: It is better to be dissected than forgotten. |
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