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“