There's two bags
Of salad mix
Rotting at the bottom
Of my refrigerator
Like the traces
Of ancient DNA
In the base of my spine

Everything breaks down,
Becomes rank and combustible
The dinosaurs,
The mammoths,
Your great-great-great-great gandfather
is fueling your car engine
right now

And we know this entropy
And the smart ones
Don't fucking mind it
Because from the molding
The composting
The fucking disintegration
We know there'll be orchids
And tabula rasa kids
And chest-beating warriors
And raving poets
And lovers willing to hold
A violently gorgeous Middle-finger
To infinity.