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=media type="youtube" key="_js48XLLfXk?fs=1" height="172" width="382" = =Apocalypse Soliloquy  (click on the links to the right) = by Scott Hightower

I hope my death is not stolen from me by a fiery blast of Fahrenheit or Celsius or another calculatable accuracy.

I will gladly relinquish all the pleasures of daily bread, the pride and dreams of art—even pulse; but I hope my death will not be taken from me.

Actually, it is a modest policy; little there to discuss as to solace or in the way of privacy.

A valued moment of self-possession? Might it be something to embrace more than to expulse? I hope my death will not be pried from me.

My end is not to be just a cause in a public sea of scientists teaming against a disease, a private point in a welter of piracy.

After all, won't it fundamentally and rightly be mine and no one else's? I hope my death is not taken from me; better, it be an appointment kept in a private sea.