The world looks to be ending (in your arms)

As the Boomers fall from the sky like figs,Excreting extinction from each and every orificeAnd pale Pestilence bubbles up from the ground where we’ve laid Our frail to rest and where the young will shortly follow I long to be in your arms As you and I abandon all plans past next TuesdayDon’t cry forContinue reading “The world looks to be ending (in your arms)”

Black Spot

Rocks fling from the asphalt, loose pennies cast at my upturned bowler-hat bubble car, asteroids challenging my ozone windshield; I’d forgotten how these roads feel. Scattered with obituaries to long-dead high-school hopefuls. Laminated photographs, cryogenic colleagues forever youthful; trunks smiling with plastic flowers, music blared: my Piccadilly daydream- Each sliced bud grows in me, burgeoning,Continue reading “Black Spot”