Although an ache in pit o my belly
like a dull swinging pendulum used at a deli
undermines me state of health, force myself
to seek distraction - x 'cept talking over the telly.

The following poetic endeavor in regard to an article from January 2013 issue of Smithsonian magazine glorifying the indulgence of mad scientists to stymie that terminal negative node where the definition of being a sensate being scares the dickens (or substitute preferred expletive) out of me!

SHORT ON TELOMERES

Each subsequent process of cell division

i.e. mitosis sans the biological parlance

erodes chromosomal re:

captcha telomere if you can envision

at some juncture senescence prevails –

apoptosis no chance

to prevent this natural degradation,

and the alternate decision

per opting to bail from etching

chronological age – averse at a glance

to this mortal male, who decries

that death breed’s frisson

thus disallowing healthy discussion,

once end of the figurative dance

delivers the curtain call on existence –

where grim reaper jeers with derision

at attempts to thwart cessation of life,

whereby scientists seek to enhance

longevity – even exhuming the dead,

and experimenting with incision

to rewind expired meter fostering

demise after staying alive – with lance

a lot chock full of chemical concoctions

to revive corpse as the ultimate mission

yet, any effort to transcend the genetic

bulwark engendered from bulge in pants

in tandem with merging with ova –

based on each coupling favored position

ought not be tampered with lest havoc

t’will be rent asunder and rants

from rabid quest per course ala collision

inscribed within dna blueprint

from extinct cousins of uncles and aunts

prepping monster to burst from

Ray Kurzweil laboratory

whereby to halt recalcitrant

zombie spells fruition!