i'd rather know.
the way doctors prefer
to die---the old way.
knowing just why
your own throat can
no longer swallow, that
acknowledged deterioration.
when do the fingertips
lose feeling? at some point,
you don't know anyone.
the last word
is the vaguest one---i love you
but love is of the body
(especially for communist atheists)
and what does the dying body know
about the living
about living love
in the future, alien archaeologists
will find our skulls
and each feeling
will be a ring, in the tree trunk bone.
in humble academic circles
maps will be drawn, and exchanged,
our every pain
an aerial view of the sea
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