Sometimes Things Just End


It doesn’t much matter
what yips and squeaks
leak and dribble from our
little selves,
those cuts and scars
tattooed in the caverns
of memory, beyond recognition,
like electricity.

Habits, hankerings
and those entitlements
play like cheap burlesque,
to an audience of nought,

and miss the point:

everything gets gone,
not sometimes,
but always;

and one of the
numerous human tasks
is to know
when that inexplicable end

is important.

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