SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Until It Goes Down

I look at the bottom of a drained mug,
ask it fill me again.
Idle spoon,
nothing to stir.
Without a word
we stare out the window:
same landscape,
same memories.

Oil-topped table
props weary limbs
that toil at nothing.
A brain, still searching for something
inside its unforgiving vessel,
looks again.
Still mocking...
or just myself?

Dusty floor smooth beneath
two stiff feet.
Veins unharmoniously pang,
the clot pedestals
will not send us
to the life-giving machine.
Had enough.
A silent, gray frown.

At least I'm served by the sun
until it goes down.



There's a world at my doorstep. Make it go away. It's late.