well at last

well at last

well doctor i’m dying,

is there anything you can do?

and will it be painful?

and would you

suffer treatment for a long time

for such a little extra time?

no? me neither.

but they say the insects are dying

for our lifestyle.

they say the pollinators 

cannot run the mile.

running out are the sands of time,

for there is so little time

to enjoy a decent dying,

on the deckchairs of global warming,

lapped by the rising tide,

and wrapped warm in every warning;

oh what a glorious time

to be having a glorious time.

you know there are people dying

in other parts of the world?

does in mean nothing to you

that the half-mast flag’s unfurled?

is it not the lifestyle of your lifetime,

that refuses to throw a lifeline in time?

but I don’t care if they are dying,

in other parts of the world,

they did not throw me a lifeline;

was it not their overpopulation that unfurled

over a long time up to my time,

the noose of news, the trapdoor of time?

think man! are not the species dying?

are not the storms pressing

you to think again?

is it not depressing

to be living (in) the end of time?

to be living (at) the end of time?

no! you say. you think i am dying?

well so are all of you.

it’s always someone else’s fault,

isn’t it? for it’s never down to you!

well it is this time,

it is this time.

nice to be living in interesting times to be dying

don’t you think? and thinking i will be the last

to close my eyes as i have always done

throughout the recent past,

when there WAS time;

but now we’ve past the last of time

to be free to enjoy the endgame of dying,

and to topple the queens and kings,

so settle back from checkmate

and to drink in the dregs of things.

the game-clock of time

has run out time

to say goodbye, I’m dying,

and wasn’t it a terrific joke,

to watch the back-to-the-wall clatter

when bespoke time was broke,

for now it’s time,

for one last time,

to say ...