When it comes to death, it's as if
All the songs and poems and stories
About sex were penned by virgins
Contemplating the strange prospect,
Except that this transformation
Is not an initiation
Into a new experience
But the end of experience
Itself and of its memory,
Which is all of experience
One ever experiences.
Forms eddy, stable entities
Similar to earlier forms
Of themselves. They don't contemplate
What they'll be when they've never been.