Thursday, May 28, 2015


Glass drips from the outside
As the ice melts within,
My hand inches from your hand
My mind already deep inside
The heat not from the sudden
Plunge into Indian-like summer
But from the churning
I can’t stop with burger and fries
Or any mortal food,
We live our lives on the edge of extinction,
Needing to feed a raging hunger
That makes us melt on the outside and in,
Fingers inches from contact we know
Will cause the start of a great cataclysm
Rivaling only the big bang that
Started it all,
We are universes on a collision course
We cannot avoid, with inches
On a table top or car door,
As vast as light years
And yet, closing fast,
The churning inside working towards
That moment when finally,
Unbearably quick and slow,
We make contact,
After which, the rest us utterly
After which, there is no turning back.

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