In the end, I dunno – but is that a crime?

In the end, I dunno.

But kinda, now, I don’t mind.

And mebbe it’s a crime,

and mebbe it’s not.

On the other hand,

who cares!

You can stare at me weird,

at the little beard

left, and truthfully,

I am open to it all.

And maybe when happy,

my art won’t be good;

but even if it ain’t,

for some it still might 

resonate somewhat;

in some way, and got,

I never could

predict I’d still 

be and have.

So let’s learn to just go,

and flow with this 

go, and fight and fuck

when the opportunity 

presents, and like and 

just love, when

the opportunity ain’t that.

And just be and do

and rue and that,

and sit and see

and occasionally

touch.

For the end of the world

ain’t what we feel:

and what we feel, whilst

real, ain’t lost in any place

any more.

And if one day

you kiss me 

so may, 

my might will

jump a foot or 

more: as what’s in store

will love me fine,

and mebbe still 

produce that rhyme

I search, and gift,

and finally 

leave as 

reminder of

your wonder grand, 

and gorgeous things,

at last.

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