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Approaching my 56th like a deck
of cards that’s been reshuffled, or
a new cut of meat I don’t even
recognize, an organism entirely
re-organized, mitochondria
included. Ancient
hungers satisfied, even forgotten,
primal urges gone south, back to
their reptilian burrows, myself
moving toward a new stage
called...whoknowswhat, but
the whiff of death dances around
it.