What is This?
What’s all this talk
of the end of the world, these days?
The skies crack open and
the ground is heating and still
we’re not satisfied.
We elaborate deep, perverse suicide daydreams
fantasizing our death over and over
Create survivalist scenarios to play the hero
lament an imaginary primitivism that never was.
I’m writing this on an iPad
drinking coffee
As the TV blares about heroin addiction in Middle America.
The end of the world will play out much like this
on the nightly news
It will whimper in the background
Like white noise.
There will be no brush strokes to hide
No survivalist fantasies to lament
we’ll never see it coming.
We’ll be sitting here
On the futon
Eating fake chicken and frozen vegetables
You’ll ask for the inside seat
And I’ll smile
You’ll smile back and
I’ll think about when we’ll get married.
We’ll watch bad television and
It’ll be the same as it always.
