Sullen trees still stand for something.
Low craggy branches have seen things,
Held this and that,
Watched faces
Furry, bald and scaly.
They watch in the quiet air taking
nothing.
Absorbing nothing.
Sheets of milky silver
A plate of milk spiked with mercury-
that’s the backdrop to all of this.
Soon it will all crash down,
Burn through those observant branches.
Let’s toss up something else,
Watch it all shatter and fall
apart.
On dusty streets
when you start to wish for a van
to knock you down,
Snap some bones.
A trip down some stairs,
Darkness.
That’s when you know the end is coming.
Or maybe
you’re finally onto something.
