Land’s End

Old age, that’s what it’s all about;/I’m counting these fingers,/but there seem to be more than ten./You remember me as a tyke, /I pulled on the ear of your puppy;/there was such a glad source of mayhem,/ wherever I went, unforgiven,, /bathed by the rays of the night,/not even so far as to notice,/the beautiful beast that frolicked/in the churning laps of angry women./Now if it’s still mayhem,/and mayhem is all there is,/there’s something that surpasses me,/perched on the brinks of several moons,/blank to their phases,I never noticed ./Ah, to gasp again, /no wife, no income but the State/not even kids, but jokes that count for more /as they turn around the sun/so distant, so remote, that it tears up the ever ready./I live in buildings with names on them/no trust in such places/where the wall clock is broken.,/where I fish foreign coins from the candy machine./It’s all fucked up/that’s all there is to it./I tell you what you tell me/it’s butchered, by the time it reached your ears/same time each night, one day older.

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