The End of Guilt

“True!” she says, and runs her
arthritic finger through the entrails,
still hot, still living.
“This indicates the end
of something…this is
the fait accompli,
some boulder has moved and will
not cease to move until motion ceases—”
and here an interjection fazes her,
her eyes stir and gain their usual hue.
But the mystery is only just beginning,
the strange words are on her lips:
“This is the end of something…
the end of…the end of guilt.”

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio

$1.00

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