So this is where the grieving ends
grim pilgrim from Grahamstown no closer
no end to justify this means more to me than
you think more than you know
more than you ever gave me credit for
and so I go quiet let’s not hear an explanation
sssh not a word
so this is how the grieving ends
and I thought there would be more
to it more than this heap of rubbish
more than someone else’s yellowed men
more than summer news in autumn
more than a stab at s and m
so this is why the grieving ends
with frozen hands and frostbite nose
no closer and care is coughed up with
blood gobs and sniveling and sometimes
this strange liquid hisses on the tarmac
as my soul-pool evaporates
and that is where the grieving ends