Recycled not

To be burned, charred, incinerated, from and toward the sun.

I’ll not let the worms have their way, nor the beetle its prey, heavens no! Pray.

Release me into energy, and refuse the demands of foreign, clumsy recyclers.

Keep these ingredients from the baker, and deny the transformation which phases beg, to disinfect from raw material my contribution.

Cleanse you now with briefest rain, no more contaminants contained. No rusted bolts, impure alloys, or overdone casseroles.

In severing, it is rebuilt, in the snake’s shed, hides petty redemption, made worthy by 

parts unincluded and words left