After I was diagnosed
Was hoisted above the city.
Confetti clips stretched my fragments
From mountain to mountain,
Gray with gristle, white with bone,
With arterial cherry blossom.
The Committee on Public Decency
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
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.