I have been tight,
On getting the ending right.

Always; it starts with a bang,
Or a boom, or a blast,
But it does not last.
Comes down crashing,
Like the popped-corn,
That takes off like a missile,
An ambitious space ship may be, that won’t rest
Siphoning through space
On an indefatigable mission, to orbit moon,
But falls right back,
To truffled butter flavor,
Or sometimes just a plain salty doom.

Every time, it’s like a dawn.
The brilliant spark of a bright idea,
Apparently, whose time has but come
Enthusiasm spilling through the sleeves
Of my creative genius,
That remains to be proven
Not unlike
Overzealous expectant’s sweater,
That never gets past
Thirtieth row and the forty-sixth loop

Bolder the beginning,
Harder the pull, Over and over
Regaling
Over and Over
Oh, my! Wonderful lines
Started like a starry night on canvas
And then left to dry in the rain

Stream of effervescent thoughts
Gushing through my prefrontal
Disappear
Perhaps through my vestigial
Into the void of Universe
Where Singularities confluence
Time and Space
And the simple laws debase
Some such
Abstract debauchery thus takes over
Generating non-recyclable waste
Of words that could have been saved

Starts like The Prufrock Song,
And feels like the Essay on Man
But always ends in a faltering plot
A miserable attempt at rescue
And an insidious everlasting pain

QED