The End
I am so much at the end of my times
though I wish it were Grand Times
like, you know, for the Universe
or for some seagulls or flowers
that I’ve happened to mention in a crumby essay
about what that they ate in a peck
without regard to me as a benefactor
well, of course, a minor crumb
and an annoying body
to dispose of in a land fill
or cremate.
I always thought
I would have been more.
I always thought I was brilliant
or at least someone
And now
everyone tells me I’m nothing
I think they are right because
There is no evidence of me.
— Douglas Gilbert
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