not body horror, just reality

half of my split molar splintered in my mouth
and I surveyed it like an ape considers a snowglobe
before casually discarding it
                                        but I did not tell my wife

my mind is wrought with thanatopsis
while my body worriedly works
to contain my blood, bones, and organs
                                         but I do not tell my wife

a tight right glute causes low back spasms
while my prostate balloons turgid
and luteinizing hormone too low for kids
                                          but I cannot tell my wife

I woolgather often, the narrator of Dos’s Notes,
what was his name, perchance tomorrow I will be
a roach, I have no spout, and I must steam
                                           but I will not waste her time

maybe in the Himalayas
                    time stands alongside you
                                        rather than race ahead
I would like to ask a mountain man
                    but I do not believe
                                        I will have the chance

perhaps my sweet wife will sojourn in that cold high place when this body ignominiously fails,
          with whatever goo or sludge or salty sediment that remains,           and:

                    although no grace, I feel no pain,
                    it is a pleasure, and you are not
                    obliged to fulfill dreams of dust
                    I hope someone will tell her.