Everything Ends
but so what. In the sultry nights of August, I’ll unravel –
wanna join me? We can pant ourselves pantless,
share a double brushfire on the raucous. Together
we can close the book on the Uncertainty Principle,
load up, unwaning, at Wingstop, discuss the sorrow
of burned beaks. Free the crows, you say, and I raise
a toast to a small, uninhabited island, a boisterous whale,
a purity stone, a planet without smoke. Because pleasure
counts big time. Because days spent in a tender mess
are unrecoverable. Naked and floodlit, cocooned
in …
