ice and whiskey in a cup-
that’s how the world will end.
the world becomes nothing more than
a couple ice cubes,
a drink of your choice:
some bitter and better version of maltose.
i ask for a cup of whiskey-
nothing more and nothing less.
war, fire, ice;
add em’ in there too.
or maybe don’t.
maybe what we ask for at the end,
for anything else other than demise,
is asking for too much of the world
because all she can offer are our failures,
an olive at the bottom of a finished martini
& broken promises and all we say are sorries
and that we’ll make it up to her soon.
this green-blue globe won’t end in an apocalypse
or up in flames by the next arsonist.
by the time we are done-
she’ll be eating herself alive
stripped of her insides
& her outsides:
a melting mass of rock & rubble,
forever saying to the next galactic patron:

what can i get started for you today?

The day commences, towards its end,
Twilight faced across the sky.
A cold night surges, unyielding to bend,
As the radiant hope, so high.

The warmth fades, no hope to subdue,
gloom rises through the skyline.
The pack returns for curfew,
Beneath stars that calmly shine.

In the distance, a mountain stands;
For thousands of years unchanging.
But look beyond the veil, and you will see
That its pain never truly ends.

The relentless winds blow away its crust,
The wrath of water carves its core.
For many years it stood the test of time;
How long can it last? Fall it must.

An eruption of emotion starts the end,
The mountain explodes from the inside;
Its top blows up: dark, thick smoke now fills the air,
Tired stones crumble, lava covers the land.

even if you can feel it
you never know
when it will be the last time
when it will end
not really
kiss them a second longer
linger in the doorway
look back and wave
love with all you have
whenever you can
you never know

I look at the time
over and over
is it better or worse to know?
to give myself more time?
or am I just drawing out
the bitter, inevitable end

The bird flew,
The bird fall.
What’s happened to her?
Did it break a wing?
The bird flew,
The bird was tired,
The bird fall.
Bad luck is the thing.
No bread crumb,
No clear sky…
It’s all gone for her.
Such is the fate.
The bird flew,
The bird fall.
The bird is gone.
That is the end.