Inside that little coffin shell, a tiny
dead man with a mustache stares.
This is that guy you've been
looking for
your whole
life, everywhere, and now
he's trapped inside a peanut shell, and
that shell is in your hand, and you can
grab his diamond-
tipped
walking stick
to do a dance
naked
except for his top hat. Because
this is the public
domain, at last, which
is death, which is when they can look
you up, and you can't look back. All
our secrets gushed
up all over the internet.
The movies we rented.
The posts we liked.
The friends no one knew we had.