Just a throw-away poem,
No time, no inspiration, no reason,
But still, I must go on.
There is no train of thought on which to board,
Can life be that empty,
Even for the space of a few minutes,
In a hotel room, in briefs, in Cinty,
With so much moving? Still no time for thought,
Will the final chapter,
In the final breaths left to us on earth,
Be too rushed to matter?
We'll never know,
Until that chapter comes,
But if the last five minute's any clue,
I'd better make meaning while there is sun!
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