Individual

No individual exists in death.

The human disappears.  The heart dissolves

To chemicals.  That’s it. Not even breath

Remains as breeze.  No dust devil revolves

Where meaning was in emptiness of air.

The rattle in the throat is much the same

In all.  A vacuum becomes your heir.

A nothingness speaks up but . . . to defame

The notion that you ever smelled of lust

And armpit or your semen, never mind

A soul or limerence.  Forget the thrust

Of penis.  You are zilchness unrefined.

Ameba, virus, strings of D.N.A.

Evaporate to zero, lost, away.

~ Phillip Whidden