We are wilting in unison,

browning petals blitzing from our

warping stems. This is communion:

if the body eats itself, can we be

Jesus? We’ve never been churchly types,

never big believers, if we don’t believe in ourselves

can we be Jesus? There’s little

different between a flower and a gun,

I think a bullet is a seed and we are

walking weapons but we are not guns

we are warheads aimed solely at ourselves

but lo, consider a blast radius, consider

whose atoms we’ll smatter in a gradient.

Your choice to die is yours and mine is mine

but if you’re going to disappear,

just walk away,

don’t you vaporize in front of me.