Don't bother to bury or burn my body -
just let my bones bleach white.
Throw me in a hole in the jungle -
food for wild dogs, worms, and germs.
Nature's truth -
a truth painful only to humans -
is that in life we are all consumers,
and in death we are all food.
In nature's view,
big brains put us no closer to the feet of gods
than does the ancient memory of trees,
the octa-ambidexterity of an octopus,
or the network optimization of fungal mycelia.
We are all both consumer & food.
This entry was posted in Death, nature, poem, Poetry and tagged Death, nature, poem, poetry by B Gourley. Bookmark the permalink.
