Phillip A. Ellis

 

 

 

Drafted Endings: a Terminal After Jill Jones

 

 

Phillip A. Ellis

 

It was the best of the belligerent,

it was the worst etcetera. The balalaikas

are being played; hush! Put thy skateboard

down: it is time for your baptism

and it is time to end the endearments

of your sucklinghood. Freshen up your do

 

and listen out for the here and now

before the fat lady yawns

at the thought. Let them then release

a hundred white doves from locations

where the war had ended,

 

and peace will be their promised morsel

of flesh. And, as for myself,

I will pack up my kit and bedroll,

and make of the world an instrument

with which to say the world that was

was the world that would have been without me

 

to taste of its multi-hued tipples

and nipples that taste of tinctures

that might or might not work

according to the paper. And let the benediction

of the religion babble in all likelihood,

 

no more tangible than the great, grey moon

that is no more round than a lemon

is something I would want to burn.

There is a truth universally acknowledged,

but I do not subscribe to such a notion.

 

 

 

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