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.