Watching the end of the movie
it rarely matters which one
I can always envision improvements.

Planning another doomed escape;
I’ve got a pocket of creatures who
vie always for my attention

(which is daily tighter
wrapped over the rest of my
god-forgotten soul)

Coming back to the ground
where all the first stories
dawned on me,

and dosed me with something to get
off the million wrong highways
I would’ve just died on,

have a back pack of note books
I’ll never put down, and gadgets
that I use mostly to send more
into the vault, now and later, too,

I’ll be reworking, rewriting all the
different ends, even yours, yes,

even you.