Immortality

Sad day, I sing
to my carcass. 
I laid you down here
as a stepstool,
stuffed you with poisons
to keep you still,
and in return got only
a lazy handful of songs
like this lament
for what comes
from not keeping you strong.

My carcass remains silent.
My carcass refuses me —
this is marvelous! 

Toast me
after this becomes known
and be happy, comrades,
in spite of my leaving you;
for I have succeeded at this
at last, climbed the elephant
to see as far as I can,
and now…I never enjoyed much.
I never liked much in fact,
so this is no small thing
to feel such love for the world in me
now that I have no carcass
to express it with.

I should have done this years ago
and saved the world from me
and these recent dumbly rut-conscious songs. 

I should have done this years ago —
split my body into work and carcass
and left the carcass behind
so the work could live on.

— T. Brown, 9/5/10