A Few Words About The End

 you run holding your breath to meet it

crazybusypreoccuiedjustonemorethingpressed

and the exhale that follows is both public and private.

At some point the air is out

the bright balloon that you were that bounced through the last days

so visible, animated and claimable

is suddenly inert, deflated, floppy.

There I am on the sofa

There I am in bed

in the middle of an afternoon

wrapped in a coma-like sleep where the tensions fall away from my body

one after the other

layers sliding off and dissolving into nothing.

What it means to be done.

Finished.

Released.

Into the summer of my independence.