Puddle of Cryonics

I'd rather be a puddle than a Popsicle. Can I tell you why?

Better yet, I'll start by asking, What should immortality cost?

It could be mine for the low- low price of twenty-nine, nine-ninety-nine.

Yes, in US dollars, no cents. I've got the latter, not the former,

at least not in this lifetime. I might also mention the ugly how

to get there: First flushed, then re-pumped blue for blood, I'd be bagged and hung

upside down in a sparing accommodation. If plans hatch as laid,

science'll shell me out from gamy non-life to patch and catch me up.

But why would it bother, 'less to pick my pickled brain about times ago

when men couldn't see much beyond their vanity. And that takes me back

where I started at: I'd rather be a puddle, and evaporate.