Apocalyptic palette 

Black and white and red all over

Not a knave left taming kestrels

Death which is breathless, balding

Recalling vilest cancers, sore incurable

Angst and lancinating pain unendurable

Real as Durer’s grass, realer than real

Fixity’s cessation, bubbling floors rubbled nations

A heat risen which steel melts to mithril puddle

A wobbly, hot mushroom apocalypse

Sidling like a drunkard through the thoroughfare

Flame held to a painting of an idyll

Heaven to hell translated

Transmigration of saved souls to higher states

Word someone said in Ulysses, ask James.

Leave a comment