We’ll Fill a Pit As Well

As waste, as old chairs,
As mold on tossed fruit,
As hard shells of oil,
Old tires, tins, rags, dreck.
Do let us go there,

Let us be hard pressed,
Made blocks of dried flesh,
Packed skulls, tanned hides, clay.
Squeeze the oils from us
If you must, but save

The hair, scraps, and bulk
Of what once was us
At the time of death.
Please don’t churn us up
And send our poor flecks

Back through the great whirl
Of days, nights, and lives,
Of teeth, wants, and lusts,
Of what we once ate,
Of what must eat us.

A dried corpse, a thin
Line in a stone slope,
A thing that is done—
Give us that peace, that
Wreck. Don’t bring us back.