THIS IS MY ENDINGS :
THESE ARE MY END
All of this is just a bit off - like the bird, singing
out of turn, or missing its retraction of the silence's
own sentence. A water-fountain dryly seeps; the walkway
is wet with its leakings. A few people pass with grocery
bags - they seem as if tied up in a knot, the people do;
yapping and complaining about lines and prices. Who
the devil cares? have you ever seen those places? I
myself, yes, briefly considered exile once, to Chile or
to Madagascar. Neither one seemed quite right, so I
just simply stayed in place. Oh Lord, here I am.
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