Two things happen
when you get old, your *****
are scratched more
and used less;
your *******
itches more;
two things happen
when you die,
your *****
get ****** up into your esophagus
(two new tonsils)
and your *******
becomes a Kandinsky.

This is not poetry;
but I like to think
about what will happen
to my *****
and
*******
when I die,
and it's humbling
to not know what's going on
down there
when I'm not looking.