We are all just fossils who do not know it yet,
men and women with wet skeletons,
walking, talking, living, loving,
never thinking of how we’ll look in cold, hard rock.
We will be not be denied the privilege of being corpses,
we will bloat or pop, our skin will not grow
clammy and slough off with time. We will be burned
into rock, or will be thrown
into deep bogs; when they find us,
so many millions of minutes from now,
our bones will still stink of meat.

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