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Why clean the ears
close the eyesbrush the limp hairs no longer growing from either end
on the chilled pate of this vacant cadaver?

Tear off the ears
pull out the eyes
uproot the hairs
until you realize this is not me.

Visualize the queen bee circumscribing death
procreating life transfigured
spitting out the tart aftertaste of Morpheus's bed
to inhale immortality's sweet pollen.

I have no ears to hear my requiem
no eyes to watch dirt pile on me
no hair that reverts to dust.
Berate mortality for trying to claim me
and remember to squint as you see my real physique
ascending.

MARILYN PFISTER-FRIBERG
[John 11:25-26]