My desire,
a cold steel blade to the chest.
Your twitching remains lying prostrate on the floor.
Your pooling blood dispersing along the grains of the dark oak panels,
like a plume of smoke from a lit cigarette.
The aroma of cadaver like that of a tube restroom neglected for too long.
A Kodak moment.

Many will morn,
but shouldn’t,
for without you,
the fake absolute,
the placebo,
the denial of observation…
People will be forced to think.
A Kodak moment.

Tom Weil, 2009