GH O TI

f i sh

The End Days

By Mark DeCarteret

after only ten minutes
in the prophecy seminar
I am lost in a dreamworld
of refugees & stumps

outside March unburies itself
the sun looking unwell
how can I say any better
what the window has already said?

I have tried turning a speck into epic
& the puniest chill into pathos
now the blackboard's whited out
w/the straining of comets and dragons

we have been equipped w/a soul
& were once born out of light
yet earlier in the day I was seconds away
from spitting inside of my car

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