The Cities of Baron Von Marbles turned
to carrot colored stalagmites of flames.
Its citizens leapt from windows opened
like black squares in childrens drawings
crashing into concrete gone twisted
as stomachs of the safe and distant.
Before the end days of these fine cities
days were filled with mere occupation,
the drudgery of career, the insincerity
of all successes; and here we weep
for the crashing of our tallest towers
which held our debts so closely;
why, my love, do we dare to go on,
moving feet in front of feet in this march
towards certain calamity and despair;
even in the halcyon days the young
are growing older and the older
into obscure granite bookmarks,
marking pages in their soil, cat ears
to remember the space a human
might have occupied, when hands
still touched surfaces and lingered
or lips still cracked from dryness;
when shivers still raised skin into piles
on thier arms?
Because on the road away from here
you turned to face me, and gently
touched my arm, while looking at me.
Let them raze a million cities, let life itself
conspire to kill every last one of us
I am ready to stand in the center
of falling debris, convinced I'll remain unscathed
as asbestos alights around me in rings.
Or else I will stay alive long enough
to see the light grow dim, firm in faith
that only my eyes are weak;
that nothing has been lost
that death is just santa claus
in black and gray.
-e.
