SUPPOSITORY

Lord when I go
My airy soul
Rising up into the
Thinner and thinner
Layers of atmosphere
Let my smooth and
Yielding flesh
My tubular body
Be pressed
Gently but firmly
Into a small, puckered
Hole in the earth

Rounded end first

Where it can rest
In the warm and fecund
Darkness
And dissolve, slowly
Over time
Yielding vital and healing
Elements to soothe
The angry red bulbs
That arise all too
Often on the troubled surface of the planet.

JD Frey -- July 10, 2001