I
ran out of time.
I
am empty.
I
exuded every temporal drop out of me,
like sweat,
like
blood,
like semen.
And now I stand at another point
of
ends and beginnings,
armed with
the selfsame insecurities and uncertainties
of my erstwhile existence.
Nothing has been achieved.
Nothing fulfilled.
Oh joy, oh joy to the world that harbors the likes of me.
June 1, 1997