Radiation Vault Number Four.
Oh, let there be in here with me a moth whose DNA with mine
will mix when they flip the switch and the room
goes nuclear.
That I may some days later sprout
a pair of wings that will wing their sun
struck span in a sky wide oil slick rainbow.
And may the skull upon its thorax
be the skull upon my back.
That heaven may upon that aspect cast its homicidal eye
when I flutter its porch light sun,
and think the work already done.