bare your throats, if you please.

your buried slice of apple
is calling out to mine, voiceboxes replaced by bitten fruit.

Humans die so casually that I don't think I want
to be human. I am, oh,
young,
young enough,
youngish,
at least under the creases and the craters and the monthly bleeding,
the fantasies that never involve me,
the part of my mind that, in frustration, resorts to beautiful strangers;
the part that has not won yet.
It is not too late
for me to sink
into a machine, or a stone, or a sky, or a word
(is it?)

I am not yet a person.

please god, let this consciousness never end
let me drink green tea with old fox-women, and rise again,
a goat with human eyes.

THESIS: Immortality is underrated.

Discuss.