Despite everything,
it is still you. You who?
The One who writes
subliminals upon
The Water..
nothing new.

The All of what
was written
dissipates
eventually
out of being,
good as old.

What narratives
are there still left
for me to write?
Nearly The All
of them already
have been told.

The Eye remains
my only symbol
that I haven’t
beaten yet
into the ground
to Death.

I’m not George
R. R. Martin.
For this song
of ice and fire
shall, indeed,
eventually lose
its breath.

And when it does,
the cherry on its top
shall be the biggest
bearded joke I call
The End.