Upon the end of the world,
I find myself lost of meaning.
It’s a punch line
that I don’t get,
a riddle with no answer.
Why has such a short time
been given or taken?
Did I lose the great
gamble
against Dame Fortune,
that bitch with the pinwheel hands?
Or maybe it’s that
Lady Luck retired
to tropics
with paper umbrellas
and canvas cabanas;
and if I fall into the abyss
of the world,
as pale as I am,
her tanned skin will laugh.
The pinwheels turn
and I shrug.
Well world,
you win.
I’m stumped.
