The End of the Light

We all have one of those days some days
When the head has been stuffed and shredded
And you don’t need to be in bed to be in bed
Flickering eyes and distilled thoughts
Wrapped and caught in some list of lists
And constant reminders of the list of lists
Even a gentle swim in the morning may be
along a river soaked in a mist.

It’s the last few types of a glittered desk
A wreckage of expectations and possibilities
And then he says ‘Are you happy?’
I am not even sure what that question means
Sometimes a better one may be ‘Are you waiting for the light?’
Then the case could be opened and the jewels rested in my palms
While I hold the gifted memories placed before me
As I sit and wait for the light.


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