am Ende sein
Fine with me, I
mean it’s your planet,
you go ahead,
keep the motor running,
your wrist with what
must be a finite
insouciance
draped atop what we insist
on calling a
steering wheel, warm it up
double-bag it,
toss your alloyed can
where you’ve tossed your
butts; what’s fill ’er up but
a line in a
song like nothing left to lose;
You may leave the
light on, but me, I’ll be
off for, where else,
Elsewhere.