The End

This is the end.
The song sings itself to me from a faraway quiet place.

I’ve floated through lilac archways and kissed my feet on green moss carpet.
I’ve walked blind into bushes and come out screaming with my hands in beehives.
I’ve ridden the black stallion across parking lots and climbed poles to silvery moons.
I’ve carried my house in my mouth like a bird.

I’ve stayed inside, in the table and glass, while time dripped off junipers and rolled into rivers flowing backwards.

I’ve ripped my name tag off.

I’ve watched the night turn into a flock of crows circling overhead.
I’ve seen the walls fall down. I’ve seen the bathtub in the kitchen.

I’ve seen men in red and white striped shirts breathe fumes and melt into sheet metal.
I’ve ridden on hoods of cars and screamed lizard at the sky.
I’ve scraped smoldering keys against icy locks.
I’ve crashed into teeth and breathed through tongues.
I’ve pulled up letters and spun them with silk threads on spinning wheels and turned them through liquid gold cinnamon skies.

I’ve taken my pet ants on vacation.

I’ve walked the small paved road that leads to nowhere. The one made by the Indians. I’ve sung songs to their car dealership. I’ve cried because that’s all there is.

I’ve done nothing. I’ve watched the stars blink and the grass rise. I’ve told the story straight.
I’ve curled up in a ball clenching sheets stomach punched bleeding tears through velveteen not breathing and never going to love again.

I’ve drunk champagne in fallout shelters with flowers in the sky.

I’ve gone to Ralph’s to get a chicken.

I’ve written this and torn it up and danced in its skin.

I’ve finally figured out the ending.
Spoiler alert: this is how it ends.
Is that all there is?

The song sings me forward.

What are you looking for?