Everything you prepare

is a little off

when the time comes

Beings

are high-order matter

intoxicated with expectations

- but who can blame them?

The sight is appealing, is appalling

The skin is soft,

the eyes well forth in tandem

Death handles its acts of sanitation

with numb hands

& bleeding eyes

Birth screams & breathes hard

In the offices

coffee machines cough,

lawyers curse,

business executives fit

into revelatory Bob Dylan songs

Every angle fits into its geometry,

each entity into its measurement

We sit back & die,

a little off