The End - Poem by Tim Carlson

Lieing lips,
Burning hearts,
For she does not know.

The pig has flown,
The blackbird consumed.
Able blacks
Subtle whites,
All the worlds a stage,
An actor is right,
Face behind the blackboard,
Long and gaunt.

I am cheery and glad
with my streak of pain,
The moronic square begins.
Breath and brace,
in the face of the stage.