Will It Never End?
It’s
so easy to fall into despair— “black-ass,”
the
great suicidal author called it before
blasting
his head off with his favorite shotgun;
all we
have to do is think we’re not “there”
yet,
and everything we still hope for is beyond
our reach,
or we’re too infirm or old to get “there.”
If
it’s not one thing, it’s always another; an endless
crop
of new, and old, very old and tired desires
made
fresh by an incessant longing for more
of
the same; will it never end?
Composed
in Georgian Bay, Ontario
Sunday,
June 16, 2024
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