i. m. Lucie Brock-Broido (1956 - 2018)

​

Dear Stupid Cells,

 

who themselves, wild in their passion, 

leave their ordered places.

Did I not love you as myself?

 

No body wants this careen 

to the cliff's very lip, days 

puking up poison.  Yet you never

let go this embrace.

 

Endorse the old order,

a dominion of peace,

maverick proud, you, 

too confident to listen.

 

Fucking stupid flesh,

submit to reason, return

to your bed, leave perennials

alone, you weeds without grace 

to bloom prettily.  You will be the death.