Ice Age

skies swim in hermit’s light

the end of the world

comes only in myth

incognito in fact

i clutch crooked scrawls

from earnest scribes

my arthritic hands entwined

in apocalyptic angst

lost between twin banks

of darkness

the earth buries

its memory in magma

old scars of abuse arise

no balm in gilead

we sculpt monuments

to desire

our bodies shudder

at marble’s embrace

frigidity of shame

beyond the tabletop butte

purple clouds split

into slivers of solid air

the desert paints its face

with orange blossoms

my eyes thirst for seas of beauty

the world plays no favorites

it grants years to les miserables

forfeits grace for the living

rescues the guileless dead

doors close behind me

on this pilgrims path

walls extend to infinity

swallow all passersby

your lips decorate the fields

like scarecrows in the sun

faded hats torn shirts

ensemble of nature

on the brink

of oblivion

the end of the world still comes

we are not its witnesses

circles of hell caked in ice

secret scribbles predict the cold

their symbols frozen solid

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