ENDING
there are
noises in my head
noises
in my head
stones rattling
inside a tin
and I am petrified
of what the MRI scan
will tell me
scared
of the silence
should these stones
stop rattling
the noises
go away
leave me
flat and white sheeted
prepped for brain surgery
my eyes
dead as sapphires
filled with blank sky
before
these noises au revoir
damned sure
I have to write them
get them
down on paper
and take everything from there
out in the sticks
civilization in the making
gathered around a camp fire
here is someone’s great ancestor’s
ancestor’s ancestor
a million times removed
thinking that stupid thought
will
split the atom
give us
the atomic bomb
(no getting that genie
back into its bottle)
and then
he is there too
prototype of the first to
covet what
today we
might recognize as
god-like profile
imagining a being of
sand and
ore
can talk, obey,
speak it’s own mind
and so it goes
we drink we sleep
we learn to speak
finally
break that circle
to find (found) first cities
with towers
and spires
the wheels of which,
slick truth of history,
bound to
grind themselves down
no future when
all we have for ourselves
are broken axles
but
some of
those old tall tales
yet refuse to die
have carried us through
many a terrifying, star
spangled night
clinging
to the hope of morning
Sun returning
near infinite countdown
to end
of time we have left
poems 2 die for 