A VAST ENDING TO
A SHORT START
Let's play words like a sudden death
playoff: You've got nothing and I take
the lead. Is that called a handicap still?
You move three paces, and I get 6. Is
that now a handicap too? Nothing like
it, ever before. I want to move, and I
want to stay in place.
-
Here's my last wayward move. Three
spaces left, and jump off the cliff. That
ought to satisfy even the most inquisitive.
-
I brandished a sword once, in Cleveland
Alley, where all the cats were playing.
No one present was sure what I was doing,
and a few didn't even know the rules.
-
Another gamely move? OK. I look up to
the stars, to observe how the night sky
seems moving. It takes 5 or 6 hours, yes,
but over time everything changes position.
Or seems to have done so by our own
feeble forms of self-reference. I want
to move. I want to stay in place.
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