These days sky wears his heaviness
as if gravity has forsaken her place,
climbed right out the ground and up
to make love to his blues instead.
Untethered from it’s pull beneath,
I float in light-headedness
with a free and empty heart
but this world matted all chrome red,
insists on dropping in, all high and mighty,
oozing with bitterness,
sounds as hollow an echo
as rationale in pantheonic sects.
Those false memories of better tomorrows
it keeps rubbing like salt
on wounds of this terminal case,
seeking a miracle from its Gods
to denounce what it brands cloven-footed ways,
never could nor would they ever save
the alleged sinners in us,
though its blind beliefs never give up the chase.
Why can’t it take some time off the sermons
to tie up the loose ends and that lace,
before the other shoe drops
so at least in peace we can wait
for the incoming warheads…
Watch them sketch a pretty arc across a doomed sky
who is blushing in the afterglow
besides a naked gravity in his mussy bed.
I bet the notorious happily-ever-afters,
at last awake to rampant entropy,
will erupt like fireworks overhead,
before they vanish all but without a trace.
I bet comforting iridescence of bubbles
will eventually run into barbed spaces,
popping instantly out of existence,
eyes left wide among flaccid shreds.
I bet then this world and I
can finally find a common ground
once we are past the point of living,
and walk the land of the blissful dead.