I saw a man — old, with cold greased iron and steel
Scorched by the direct lick of the sun
And I thought to myself — that’s it
I want to roll around in it
— be dirtied by it —
that’s where I want to be with my depth
Like an aged mechanic
“Bring your engine to me and I’ll fix it”
I want my Death to be under my fingernails;
unable to clean it away
I want to reek of the oil of Death
So I never forget my impermanence
