Someday it will happen,
it always does:
the endlessness of the present will get
you
trapping you on the island
of yourself.

They days will still roll
as you've grown
used to,
and perhaps you won't even notice
the significance of all that
insignificance,
brain shot to hell
by life or the allure
of the
alternative.

Someday it will happen,
as the sun rises or the sun sets,
or any time in between:
growing hair,
drying paint,
fictitious dismantled
ships,
or the same words without the same meaning,
or new words
with it.

Someday, yes, someday
it will
surely
happen:
it wasn't today,
but one can never be sure
of tomorrow.