A Note for My Crematoriast

Please make sure the ribs

look like the beach.

Not something on a

platter from the Pig-Out.

And the skull like that

of a beast that’s been

concealed in Gobi sand—

for 200 million years.

Our toes are all the same

come supernova. A bone

is a bone is a—

None of us

will be beautiful

after the burn. The flash

that brings us back

to primordial soot.

Ashes cannot

be ugly, can they?

Tell me I won’t

be monstrous. Bestrew

me in the Ganges

with a heap of Ryan Gosling.

See if exquisite

women, adorned in silken

saris, will dare to tell us

apart while we’re afloat.

Andreas Gripp

December 17, 2025

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