Mark Twain Destroys Earth in 2017

Mark Twain Destroys Earth in 2017

Part 1: Prelude

Charging around parkways and interstates he comes through sunset lemongrass wheat,
A rural spitfire of hayseed patois tumbles through barn door slats and floorboards.
He is vibrant and accelerated! He flies, grifts, and dances, but enough with the homespun reflection! He storms and rises and the sky fills like a bag.

I stumble below with eardrum pressure under a grandiose corncob connection. He takes the sky and puts me back into me, pulls me into place. My eyes, my face with him injected inside,
I glow like a twinkly eyed ambassador on the earth below for a moment,
But stop, as a gaunt claus(e) rises philosophical…

Could the wisdom invade more than ever? I stumble driven as your spirit hops boroughs, townships, and handmade parishes, but what do you see?
When my iris finally opens could profundities salvage salvation? When you release, can you actually save me?

Part 2: Climax

Rocky mountains jitter in highspeed apocalypse,
California crumbles and sinks, and the Midwest ignites its secret bombs.
A small pond ripples while longliving rivers bubble to spray.
Fire-red skies show your underhung belly over it all, dangling down.
In your return we kneel to hear you say get up, go on from here, go alone, it’s over.

As you retreat back on high, nations weep in pedestrian tribute,
They mince and honor in your name.

But I want the sky to rumble harder while mountains shake!  This is a rapture of letdown, and one swift flick of your Greek walking stick brings permanent subdued shadow. Earth folds in and obliterates.
Gases combust and glass shatters. Steel crumbles and buildings blow wide. Shadow falls to darkness the way empires fall, and trusses of blame get no play.

It’s ironic that destiny will not make you stay,
Because you wouldn’t want to live here anyway.