Dissection of Self

I am transparent;
my glass skin spread open,
flaps of sliced flesh pinned to the ground
for the dissection.
Each organ exposed;
each system, identified and labeled.
The aggressive scent of suspended death
seeps from my shell.
My body, like a raincoat,
strewn across a puddle of blood
and formaldehyde,
Dry rots in the relentless sun of consciousness. 
My eyelids, translucent and futile,
hide nothing from my empty, milky eyes.  
The whole of the world pass by me,
And learn from my body,
Like an information kiosk,
On a city sidewalk.
I feel them pointing; feel the observations.
Each gasp, an icy wind on my bare bones.
Each needle stick, a shining nail in my coffin.

10AM, August 19, 2013