will be a shrunken prune of a human,
a ghostly withered grape just barely hanging on
before that last solitary screaming plunge
into the void.
If your eyes are sharp enough
you can already sense the edge coming on
(we'll discover the light just a bit too late),
rushing, rushing, sweeping it all downstream
taking our breath away.
The final piper will play notes no one will hear,
the last minstrel will sing
a bitter insane song.