At the End of the Day

a hackneyed
     trite
        bromidic
phrase
we are become
we are become
we are 
      be
come

but, oh
shame 
     on you
shame on you
shame 
     on you

for making me 
believe
for working so 
hard
at making me
believe

for being
         such 
A Good Liar

your body 
full of 
Old Man Strength
your words 
full of 
Young Man Charm

yes
shame shame shame
on
  you, Papi

you oh so Graven
image

my Death lies too
beyond that line
across that hill
down that road you
ride
to 
  ward 
      me

never so close
never so far
            away

my Death rises
flat head hooded 
Siddhartha's Cobra 
an evanculous embrace
cooing me close with the 
crook of each bend

my Death is
kinder than you

it has promised
Nothing
and shall deliver
All

just as it did
in Dachau
when your fingers 
closed 
so lovingly
so cravenly
around my
         throat

At the End of the Day
At the End of the Day
At the
      End
of the
Day