Maybe when you close your eyes,
relaxing your bladder and your anus,
and letting go of your brittle hands…
old, mistaken, and senile
maybe then, you will walk into the light
leaving your body behind,
which is, at this point, a relief.
A maternal voice might whisper
“Don’t worry. God is a Printer,
and you are a stack of papers;
and there is no paper shredder
in the afterlife.”
But maybe you want to
tangle your film reel
like angel hair noodles
or charging cables.
Maybe you believe
there is more meaning
in confusion, but that’s not
for me to decide.
You might decide to become
confetti stardust in the purple night
and shroud those who follow
you in your footsteps to God.
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