When I Am Dead, I Will Not Be Gone

When I Am Dead, I Will Not Be Gone

When I am dead, I will not be gone.
I will be dead. Death is not a destination,
nor a vehicle to a destination. It’s not
a taxi we hail, not a flight we board
at the last breath of lungs, not a bicycle
we pedal through a sudden bucolic
landscape of the past where long-mourned
gaits and stances are glimpsed in the shade
under distant trees. All that remains of me
or you will be ash or decay-inhibited flesh
boxed and buried, stashed as if some use
for it might remain—that and, perhaps,
an occasionally coherent pattern of neurons
flickering, fading in another’s brain.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
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2 Responses to When I Am Dead, I Will Not Be Gone

  1. Like luggage left by the train station tracks,
    Waiting for a train that will never come.

    A meta-sonnet couplet.


  2. John MacKenzie says:

    Hell yeah.


Mumble back at me

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