i look up from my porcelain throne
in the fifth point cafe 42 minutes before the am’s fifth point
crown all whimsy-eyed and thrown
and see "the end is near"
so i think to myself
“me oh my oh golly geez
whatever
will i do in sight of these”
the ends
of the tp roll, that is
i look up from my pew
and there’s too much **** on the ceiling for one sheet
i stammer
then i realize, that’s not a ceiling,
that’s the sky
and that isn’t ****,
those are scars
scatting stars
scattering
i stammer, “****-it”
what am i worried about, one last sheet
those chronos blast-holes
they’ll wipe themselves out
heat death infinity splitters and all that such sigh-fanciful nonsense
and so cheers, to life
the ends
to that which must overcome itself
to the earth, "good night-boons"
to the sky, "good night, moon"
i blink once more and
“sea-ya, night-time crouch-joys“
the end is near? yes, aaand. . .