What a thing to say.

 

A thing is over.

A person, is over.

A life, is over.

 

A life can be hovered

in such a casual way

 

almost to say,

it is a thing never on the ground

until it is under it.

 

 

Over.

 

 

I lick the back of

my teeth at the idea.

 

Above it, or done.

 

 

It's a strange word if you

have enough time on your hands

to think of it, or enough beer to

grant you said time.

 

 

Above it, or done.

 

 

And as I sit writing, wrestling with the

idea, I think of all the things in life

...

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