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Is This Prescience

And all the mud brick houses have  
Staring eyes,  
Blinking in the haze of their mugwort  
Billows,  
Wafted with some  
Religious pomp,  
Toward the four  
Corners  

And the wind heralds a thousand  
Clinical  
Suicides  
An hour,

Rounded up or down,  
To a pleasingly  
Symmetrical  
Number  
 
And the tattered flesh flag  
Flails a prescription drug  
Infomercial at the  
Tidal arm,  
Images of families  
And foliage  
And a pleasantly vapid  
Disclaimer of  
Collateral  
Sufferings,  
Drones along,  
To some unnamed  
Music  
 
And we are become  
Such  
Abominations,  
We don’t tear out our eyes,  
And we don’t wail  
 
The satellites are broadcasting  
Bobbleheads  
And the rotating banners are all dead  
Yellowjackets,  
Twitching in a flash of  
Caustic  
Chemicals  
 
And the machines of nations  
Are dead,  
As the top of their hills  
 
I witnessed the slow collapsing,  
 
Bleached bones formed a makeshift  
Lean to  
In the clever,  
Busy fingers  
Of some  
Hungry sentient  
Animal, left  
Standing, between the  
Rubbers and the  
Pratfalls,  
 
Dogs chewing through their  
Hair,  
For a morsel  
 
We’re the prisoners of the oubliette  
Of the horror  
Of invisible  
Death  
And the oubliette is filing  
Up,  
With blood and  
Sweat  
 
And all the talk of apocalypse  
Was exquisite,  
Flames twisting skywards,  
Faces masked,  
As if some  
Horrid  
Holiday,  
Had commenced  
 
Everyone haloed  
In a thin,  
Pallid  
Veil,  
Of dancing  
Shadows  
 
And she said,  
 
“Is this prescience”  
 
And I said,  
 
"Press your beautiful bones  
Against my ribs,  
Tangle your rictus into my  
Thinning hair  
And chew out a  
Keepsake,  
For the archaeologists  
To carefully  
Sweep a brush  
Across  
 
Lay your mire upon my  
Silt,  
As we stumble to a  
Halt,  
Beneath the  
Eyeless  
Bracken  
And its quiet  
Unconcern"  
 
You pulled my hand  
Over your heart and then  
Into it,  
And I swam into the  
Darkness of it  
And its fears wore  
Phantoms that were a semblance of  
Men and mothers,  
Siblings and children, soldiering  
Along a barren, straight edged  
Razor,  
Trembling with its  
Tepid breathing  
And hunger,  
For clean,  
Penetrating  
Incision  
 
Each morning we inch a bit closer,  
To the bottom  
Of the valley  
Of the shadow  
 
Each morning becomes more arresting  
 
And every evening we laugh ourselves  
To stupefaction,  
To an anthem  
Of prerecorded  
Applause  
 
I touch my face,  
Eyes,  
Reaching fingers  
Fill my mouth  
 
And the air carriers deliver a thousand  
Clockwork  
Suicides  
An hour,  
 
Beneath a crisply  
Folded  
Invoice  
 
And my mouth fills with blood
DanielChristensen
Written by DanielChristensen (The Fire Elemental)
Published
Author's Note
Copyright © 2020 by Daniel Christensen. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording,...
Copyright © 2020 by Daniel Christensen. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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