Like
a mayfly, he would take
a
day to live and die
but
it would be enough.
The
trillion-twenty-three synaptic
flashes
which would zap him
through
this spree would
so
fill up his first and last capacity
for
sense and sensibility –
the
fluff and tender rough
of
it -- he’d know as much
as
he would have to know.
Then he would go.
.
