The Indistinguishable Everything

Ah, poor raccoon
What killed you?
Your corpse stretched out
On the bank of the drainage ditch.
It’s a mystery.

I come upon your funeral
Attended by a hundred flies
And two black vultures.
Now I’m talking to your imaginary self
As if you were my dead friend.

The cells that made you
Process back into the indistinguishable everything.
But you were quite distinguished for a while,
Raccoon.
I might have taken your picture.

Like it? Tip it! http://smalagodi.tip.me