Somnambulist
We are walking wide-awake
we waking dead
Move across these landscape features
Across these stone foundations in the ground
These monoliths with a muted gaze
we pass.
At the turret we'll turn left
--Highway Sixty--
Before we forget the exit sounds
and all these things are gone
They will be gone amid dead cities
They will be gone amid the ash
of Apocalyptic visions
And ruinous--what is it--
Machinations
This is not the genre of the end
no Simple eschatology for the learning class.
We're looking at the sudden close of things,
The unwarned muting of color and sight
and physical approximations of forms
You say you want a recount,
A sad reckoning for the innocent.
That is the story of life
and what it's all about
Sometimes you just have to go; dissolve into
the hazy dream, the half-lit fire, leap
Atop the flat platforms of perfumed life
and go.
The welcome end! The world dissolved!
Not in Storm and fire but like a light
switch thrown, suddenly dark.
All innumerable patterns broken into elements
Everything at its own center Every
Flaw and perfection recognizing
its own heart.
This is the day
This is the reconciliation and the life
All the work was worth it, all the
indolence worth it,
Now we're waking up.
