Death & Doughnuts
When we were young, volcanic, in a panic
to taste – swallowing shrooms, pills, alcohol, lies;
The prize was everything...
Now, my friends & I have talked
& we have come to understand
That we will all end
In the place where we started.
Where the wind whispers
pronouns through empty windows,
while gametes orbit in slowing spirals,
& apples drop off trees in empty orchards.
Where small hands dip
into sandboxes & return,
it seems, in an instant –
unsteady, painful, & arthritic.
Where forever twists & bends back upon itself –
becomes almost comprehensible –
a languid topography of memories.
Where our most magnificent loves
vanish into irrelevant valleys,
into a mountain of spaces,
into lakes of nothing.
"Spacemen see there’s no heaven above us.
If you want, you can say that there’s no Hell below.”--Big Blue Ball/Karl Wallinger