destitutional manifesto

i hear every day that people want to die

sleeping as if they were

practicing as if each night

they increased the odds of death

in general and decreased the odds

of death that night

as if to sleep then

wasn't practically an attempt

at suicide and like their diary

wasn't a perpetual dénouement

but i'll try anything

once and i've slept before

and woken up always and

i've breathed to do it

so i want my last breath to

be blood--choke on it

because i've swallowed gore

before, successfully, and now it's my

turn to chew the cud. i've breathed

before, but never mustard

gas, never vapor enough

to drown in (slowly, heavily, heavenly),

never shards that pierced the alveoli

so they exploded and seemed

more open and fit for exchange

of air to carbon: my lungs diamonds

bleeding graphite to dust the world;

i've been in but not of-sound

body panting for aboulia

to expirate, di,oxide.