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

July 29, 2015
Categories: Hello, POETRY . . Author: simondrax . Comments: Leave a comment