This cloudless brow don’t feel no more,
soft and damp and basking down the stream.
This lifeless mouth don’t sing no more.
It gapes and croons behind the night.
This back of aches has turned to stone,
forever arched in semi-circle statuette.
This stomach flab don’t flap no more,
only serves as food for hyenas and worms.
This mindless child don’t think no more,
don’t smell no more,
don’t lie no more,
don’t fight no more.
This cloudless brow don’t squeal no more.
The deed is done.