TWO PIT TICKETS FOR THE END OF THE WORLD
The Man said with a sneer today
that I would have no voice:
That puerility or obscurity
would be my only choice.
He pointed to the queue of souls
outside his castle gates.
Each gaunt, starved hand held gold and cans
of blood to bribe the Fates.
“Look, Jack, your useless crop has put
your head up in the clouds,”
this giant fee-fo-fummed into my face.
But though this ogrish lord of air
was violent and loud,
I felt your soft touch hold my feet in place.
Now we throw our seeds around us hoping
one takes root and grows,
its strong limbs keeping ours out of the earth.
We’ll scurry through the branches swaying
where the storm wind blows
and twirls our hearts ‘til we collapse in mirth.
And a burst of twigs and leaves may be
our only mark of worth.
A voice buzzed in my ear today
to remind me of my debts.
It spoke of entropy disease
and rotting safety nets,
Of gods who drive us with the scourge
of every known affliction,
Of countries shaken by D.T.’s
from gasoline addiction.
My Daedilus, he warned me
that our wings are only wax,
and the carbon crockpot’s set the seas to stew.
But though we may be torn to atoms
from our nuclear attacks,
my melting mind will laugh with thoughts of you.
And we’ll make our marks on paper trying
to make some sense of this
as our ever tangled lives grow intertwined.
We’ll wander through the wastelands gathering
shells and stones and grist –
make our homes from any rubbish that we find.
And your sweetly pulling hand is all
I’ll ever need in mine
Our peers assault us with their refuse,
but I refuse to let you go.
Their staunch refusal’s a reusal of the lie
that proclaims life as gravitous,
But, as for us, we know
that falling’s just another way to fly.
Held parlay with my fears last night
while lying awake in bed.
They showed me everything I had
was fashioned from the dead,
That my songs were just the moans of ghosts
who died with wants unheard,
My stories: zombies brought to life
through nec-romantic words.
Wraiths danced upon the bedroom walls
and I thought, “There’s no escape,”
the world outside runs on infernal power.
From Romulus our roads were paved
with murder, theft and rape,
what hope is there for luminous dreams like ours?
Now your weary eyelids open.
They’re heavy just like mine,
with thoughts of all the ways our Earth could end.
We giggle, for it’s odd to be
awake at this late time
when broken fancies never seem to mend.
So we cuddle in the dark and wait
for the show to start again.