Celebration of the Body Univalent
If during some distilled hour it is proven
by a bleached coat in a blanched lab
that I am no more - and never was -
than strings, sticks, and stuffing
sloppily soldered by some hilarious extraterrestrial
gloating in their own soap-bubble of a multiverse
(marionette of a marionette…)
to be an actor cast in their silent films,
then I say this —
I had a damn fine time anyway!
I am glad to have been animated
by whatever imagination would deem me dreamable.
I can laugh myself through death
and, with my envelope sealed by soil,
modify the genes of some future crop
to become the popcorn of Pluto’s casual moviegoer,
and so be in the hand of yet another jester
transfixed in the theater,
chuckling ’til they choke,
enjoying the joke.