ALWAYS APOCALYPSE ALL THE TIME just get used to it
by Simon Drax
We are ruled by the moon.
Werewolves, schizoids, fools.
Dragging up and down
The coastline of our life.
No drowning season, this.
Nothing so fancy.
Just another month,
Another death
Without fanfare
Flowers or even cinders,
Another eclipse in the sky
And broken toys
Lolling in the tide.
The doll, the sword, the robot,
The spools of rope and wire,
The dead dumb crackle of
The sound and the song,
The LP, the diamond needle
Scratching, scratching,
The spinning, spinning circle.
The moon is down
And there is no hope, love,
But also no goodbye.
The eclipse approaches,
The sky lowers, the ground
Trembles. Nothing, not even
Remember, remember
Can save us…
Not the math of God
Or the motion of the planets
Will ease this grief, and
Sorrow will be our
Only supper, but
There is always a but,
Thank God for the but,
Even if we don’t know
Its name.
For within this patchwork
Quilt of guilt and dead
Bent grass of our flesh,
We will always have our
Apocalypse, always, all the
Time, never young and always
Dying, always, always, always,
As the half circle of the Eclipse
hangs over us, the horizon,
everything, always, here,
Now.
Ω
