when it has all
gone.

there is nothing left but
the judgement
of time.

there is no finality.

in all fairness, there is no use in turning
and
thinking of it all.

there are no planes sailing in the ocean,
no velvet rain,
and even tears seem useless,
or sometimes they do not come at all.
blame masculinity
blame time
or do not blame
anything
at all.

blame my inability to finish this poem.
the radio plays.
and I have nothing
else
good to say.
if it was ever good at all.