mr.mincemeat@syteka.UUCP (mr.mincemeat) (09/30/83)
It's seven o'clock and I am dying
In the endings of the world I find my own.
I choke for breath and my marrow screams
Red cells find warped birth in agony-
My bones are going hollow and they cry
It hurts to move, it hurts to die
And I am singing-
I am singing bird songs, pain songs,
I moan my chant I chirp decay
Transmogrification finds tiny claws-
My ravaged hemoglobin calls out for a smoke.
I want a cigarette that burns forever
I want king-size low-tar eternity
I will tell my nicotine rosary
I will touch my beads and I won't get sick
I will clench the filter in my beak;
On scaly wings will rise above the ashes
Forever my teeth and the paper will be white.
Forever I will grasp fibers, breathing filtered wind,
I will blow smoke-rings with no lips;
In harsh avian tones I will speak the Words
And mark my homilies on my teeth.
The world will be new as I squat among the fern-trees-
Acancerous archaic, in the dawn
I will leave my droppings in a string;
They will find themselves in amber
And I will breathe deep and feathered grin
Blink my eyes and flex my claws
On my digits I will count,
Two by two, click by click,
Binary arithemetics mark my path to God.
Tom Teriffic,
{ucbvax,hao}!{menlo70,hplabs}!sytek!toms
...decvax!sytek!toms