I am as close to the end of the world
As anyone contemplating rifles
With fixed bayonets charging one's trenches.
Not that I expect I will understand,
Once the actual moment is at hand,
How all momentum shifts in its narrow
Cot like a dreamer, unaware it ends
Continually, meaning it never was,
Not ever, nor anything else, either.
We are never so clever as we thought
We should be when everything never was.
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