Carrion has a shelf life, marked by a systematically
louder series of Wilhelm Screams. Upon final complete
expiration, it sounds like raisins sucked up by
a vacuum cleaner. What awe-inspiring music!
How forlorn yet clownishly upbeat! In death, you
begin to itch. All the molecules pause like fridge magnets –
meaning they're not quite dead!
And poking from your chest is a spider leg of
breath, testing its new roaming grounds...
I kept hallucinating this certain weird motion,
I kept imagining or hallucinating that it existed
secretly in every teaspoon. Or concavely: i.e. exquisitely shallow
surgical procedures on a lollipop. Giving off fumes.
Being marginally too close to each other, cracks
open and leak entrails everywhere.
People that work at abattoirs know this motion;
the French see its skid marks on guillotines.
In the corner of every doctor's waiting room is either a
bendy avant-garde artwork or a molecular
ball and stick model describing this boneless exit.