She reaches out her dying fingertips
And brushes his forehead.
The electricity shocks through him
As she writhes in misted agony
on the dead sand
his soul is shot with color and patterns
of all her nerves firing at once
and he feels boundless skies and great echoeing spaces
and wind from across the Great Divide
within him
Her dry cracked lips grin morbidly

Her eyes are the

Color of the End of the World

And he feels a current race in him
Back to the primordial swamp
he reaches the rainy fingertips of his brain
to the beginning of the world
where fireflies lurk like stars or secrets
and the foxfire will one day coalesce into human flesh

Begin at the beginning

There is a path that appears only in the rain
it is the only way through this
steaming forest of bones
You walk through, and the bones click together with a strange moaning
and up ahead you see nailed to a ribcage
what once was THE GOD OF CROSSROADS
Reduced from his former glory,
now clad like an old soldier in bonny bloody blue
but his eyes are still the clear
color of the eyes of a heretic who knows he speaks the truth
Reflected in them are HER last words

He bends down and kisses your forehead with lips like dry leaves or spiders,
Says
I bless you in the name of all that is good and beautiful and true

And you are filled with fire and pure water

And there at the heart of things you make a wish
And the wish is the first domino
Watch as they all fall into place


She runs away,down the dark twisted lines of the future her bare feet pounding on the earth the rhythms of her heart
And her face is made of rivers
and her silhoette against the rising sun
Is a dream of Africa

In the smooth dark highway that is the future
Only the gods pick up hitchikers

And you and I stand here
with the disenfranchised youth
Here at the end of all things
they are Western dancing
the few who chose to face
the End of the World
Instead of ending their lives on their own terms with the personal seduction of cold steel

Night is a prostitute who
stalks in dark stillettos down the abandoned street
She would sell herself to the End of the World, but it will have none of her sharp yellow teeth
and April promises

It was always more of a voyeur, anyways

And we watch as the angels
Ascend from the subway gratings

one of them wears Marylin Monroe's dress

Watch as the devils, the children of
Lucifer, the bearer of the light
Come out from under the all-night hot dog stands
and kneel and weep

And we dance and feel through the soles of our feet the heartbeat of the long-forgotten Planet Earth
Here at last at the end of all things

And it flickers through us like the voice at the end of the line in a long-distance call

And we feel it rush inside us
speeding to a crescendo

And an angel kisses my forehead
And a devil sweetly draws
A star on my cheek
and I go to stand with the mortals
the children of the beautiful
I sewed my lips shut with coarse black thread and a needle like silver desire
So if I screamed, I could still hear the music

And I look at you and nod
But I do not get closer to your sweet surrender
We must face this alone

The shock wave shimmers electric blue
Through us, tracing every line of passion, everything your parents never knew
There are boundless skies in the hollow of my throat and the space between breaths

Now our hearts are laid bare, terrible shriveled things that they are

Pulsing and naked in the light of infinity like an August night or the number Eight

The human sacrifice looks deep into the eyes of the tenderly smiling priest


The man looks at the faces around him set in anger
drops his hands
And lets the darkness take him


their dark eyes speak of all that was lost and all that was given and all that waited for them

The last domino falls into place

with a sound that is heard around the world and the music stops but you feel radiant with a tangible finality
And I look into your eyes and the shock sparks through me with the electric blue that is the human connection, that is your fingertips brushing mine for the first time, is the hoarse timbre of your voice in the early morning, that is the light in the clear day of your love, is that electric blue ramming into my veins
Is the human connection
Is the Color of the End of the World


Anonymous
12:30:12 AM