Jun 27

Twenty Days: The World

In twenty days five buildings will collapse,
leaving the sea to lick its lips.
In twenty days the floor will, in a final push,
exterminate the space between herself and the ceiling.
In twenty days a small black car will stop in front of your home,
a part of you hears the doorbell
but most of you hears the crying baby instead.
In twenty days the sun will cease pulling at the desert,
but the moon will still grip the oceans.

In twenty days you will let go,
but at the end of the world
there is still you and me.

Watching the fire flick up
from behind closed eyes
and the smoke reach to
the innards of our lungs.
Blindly groping for the land
to take back its flame.

Keep your fire in your belly and your eyes open.
And heat is rising,
and the sky doesn't swallow it,
and mars feels, at last, un-lonely,
because at least it gets to watch us burn
if not burn with us.

And yes,
there is still joy and happiness...
it just isn't for us.