I am already dead.
Died, many times.
Every moment, I shuffle off
another body,
as I shuffle off
the moment to which it belonged.
I stand on the corpses of
a billion Jon Zucks
and on the billion corpses
that belonged to each of a billion other names.
Amazing, how dead meat
holds this pen—
I pull the strings
and make the mannequin
seem to write.
All the moment-bodies
of all the Jon Zucks
are all already all dead,
animated only for an instant
as I pass through them.
Dust coalescing before me,
dust dissolving behind.
It has died, is dead,
and always is dying.
I am a survivor
with millennia of experience,
past and future,
in endless realms,
known and unknown
to me.