DNR

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DNR


If you find me unresponsive, 

face-down in a puddle of 

not blood but a fluid 


form of God and good 

poetry, and if I’m brain-dead, leave

me. The rest is more alive 


than you’d believe, 

and you wouldn’t believe

how hard it was give 


it up, the reason we’ve

equated with the self, 

a mixture as ethereal itself


as all the firmest things

we know. All I’m driving 

at is that you'd not resuscitate me


me if you find I’ve finally,

escaped, crossed the guarded

border into truth from order.


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