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