Language at the End of the World

67

To lighten up language, I’ve/
Dug deeper, soared higher
A grassroots entry into oblivion

The little landscapes collected/
Of a billion lives, varieties, in-commons
To become a single blade of grass

Or a single bead of flowing water/
That’s the first conundrum
To identify with everything

Purely, without pretence/
I do not barter light and dark
They simple are, like the macrocosm

Of my internal states, I mirror them well/
With is neither grief nor joy
But only peace, nature, what is –

Time will tell if I listened or loved/
This world well, with my lack of vitality
To lighten up language, I’ve

Blown in your direction, across/
Buried cities, with little saliva
In my mouth for the end-of-times

I’ve dreamed apocalypse would be/
Not so different, as the sweet oblivion
Of a dying world, that thrives if only
For it’s artificial growth.

2 thoughts on “Language at the End of the World

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