casual lines

Where do they go, eternal lines?

They stop the mind a mere minute

 

before they fly, unadorned by wings,

and fall like flakes of dead skin,

 

destined for nothingness, but this

here/now. How to tell it?

 

I’m here because…but it’s all

so horrible, an accident! I can’t

 

live it indefinite, do it. Even

to be is to be nothing

 

but what I am – in effect

what you make of me.

 

April 2016