drop the mic fail

I do the perfect one-liner, the coup de grace, the quotable quote, the searing stanza, the erotic epitaph, the remember-me-by-this, a luxurious last hurrah, clarion coda, zinger deluxe, epic epigram, frame-worthy finale, embroidered ending, signature sign-off . . . 

the triumphant drop the mic . . . 

. . . and then stay on the stage
 

endings

We know they come, endings. We know the end is coded in the DNA of any beginning. We know our endings are preordained, happy or not. What? Why say "happy or not"? I say that because I want to believe -- and practice -- that we have that under our control, whether we want to be happy or not, deep down, despite pain or loss or expectation. I don't mean that flippantly or breezily. I'm referring to an inner disposition. Or is it a predisposition? That's key. Maybe not. What do I do with what I have, whether a beginning, a middle, or an ending? What do I do with this ending? How tender am I toward myself and toward the other person (or persons), and toward the ending itself? How do I even end this tiny creek of crooked words? With some T.S. Eliot:  

"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." 

"We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."