in a box
reduced
to feed the hungrier denizens of time
a wilting
withered
wasted remnant of what was
even in life
a shadow
degraded reflection
of what might have been.
Bury me instead
among the weeds
to feed the flowers not yet grown
and stare into the sun
till the stars come back.
Feed me to the seeds
of fruits I ate
when last we enjoyed
a lazy fall
weekend.
That is the end that I prefer
that I may leave the evil that I’ve done
and have the good interred beside me.
