cemetery teeth

you have

cemetery teeth,

first-rate marble

polished white with tears.

etched into each one

is your identification,

as when a coroner is examining

your remains

searching for dna,

but he finds only stone.

your throat is like a waterfall,

rivers turned hostile

waiting to swallow

the splintered remains of a raft

when they meet

your intestines,

saliva and acid churning

until their task is remitted

and they surge back away from the shore.

your words are gold paint,

adorning the sarcophagus,

borrowed from slave labor

that built your empire,

death is merely the next step

in your horoscope,

prophesizing your rising,

when you reveal

the monster you've always been,

gloating over the loss

of your humanity.

your soul is a project,

meant not to be developed,

but instead to be improved,

shaped into an impossible form of perfection

that, like a horse's mangled hooves

is unable to be reversed,

only expanded

until you find yourself hovering

at the edge of the universe

considering the consequences

of your immortality:

reminiscing upon a lost love,

but you can only glower.

because you shot the dove,

you stepped upon the flower.

and when you look out

into the void beyond

i hope you see a face

smiling back at you

with cemetery teeth

that look just like yours.