Until the World Ends
“Until the World Ends”
I could write poetry until the world ends.
What’s inside is the bottomless pit.
It exists without end.
The black hole of an alien universe.
Words are words are just empty words.
Swallows all outside in.
The life lived in every short story that consumed me
calls me forward to do the inevitable.
Recycle them. Every last one of them.
Loops. The Karmic Bin.
Critics and their inward reflections; just mirrors.
Red eye the poetic blitz.
Sleep on this. I see you.
You're writing, as I write this.
Each dream brings another dream.
I could write poetry until the world ends.
Start again.
Over and over;
start over again.
Over and over.
Again.
Mirrors are a hellish thing.
They open like a dark cave.
Open like a mouth hungry
for bigger things.
Open to every little thing.
Wide open.
Mouths that don't speak.
See everything.
Candide Diderot. ‘25
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