The Finale
Let’s be clear—I’m here
Naked and molding
Into the ground
My amygdala was shot
Out of the cannon
Into the sky
For the last time
Maybe I’ll stay
Maybe I’ll fly away
Come see this retiree
Confident and quite sure
He has nowhere to be
Z
Poetry, short essays and other work showcased by a Scientist, Philosopher, and Adventurer. Posts on Monday and First Fridays.
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