It ends with a glow.
It ends with the half-light of some dumb show.
If all the places pulsed red
where in my life I have laid my head.
Well some would be your house,
and some would be their house,
and some on a train.
Well all of those times I meant to be a pain,
they were the jerk of a knee.
And all of the times I tried to be funny,
It might be the same source,
a similar half bred witless horse.
On the night with the deer,
I’ve made choices and ended here.
Unclear if I like who I am.
I’m a path of the root of the same dumb man.
If every “if” formed and threw
landed on land and grew,
and if asked,
I guess I’d have grafted one or two.
