later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
where does it hurt?
These things are all about the Now.
When all the radios go out, and t.v’s shut down.
After the last bit of information on the internet is passed around.
It’ll all burn down to that moment of Now.
And that’s when the last of us will think
(if there is anything of us left),
“What about all we built and made?”
Maybe something that remembers will look up
To our sun when it will fade- into the incomprehensible
A speck in a spectacle.
See, these things are all about the Now.
While the last souls all leave. And all our water runs out.
They’ll look at each other and wonder, “Love?
Whats that about?”
And the old timers will snicker,
“Oh baby, Love?
Back there on Earth, it’s all they’d talk about.”
i tried to write about your eyes
but i ran out of cliches
i tried to say you plainly
but there wasn’t enough truth
whoever invented this language
didn’t anticipate you