The End of the World

The veiled one replied,

And who wouldn’t be proud of me?

An atmosphere of polka dots of

Light bent on gravitational waves

Within a vast ineffable folded space

Some degrees north of an asteroid

Belt held her nebulae in place

Beneath a sulfuric acid sky.

There is no weave, no hue devised

What can hide divine form from the mind.

Even the deepest blackest masses

Yield their truth with backstage passes 

All in their own due time.

It’s just a little ways

I said to make the 6:58.

Stopped once along the way by

Stutter steps and heavy breath 

With diesel passing on the left.

Three chums into the boxy whale 

Before I scarce could catch its tail

And mouth agape it kindly waits

To catch me in the baleen seats

Along its windowed flanks

Only to spit me out about 

Twenty-some odd times a week.

Been awake awhile now

While most are still asleep. 

I could regret about everything

But I haven’t got the time.

I’m not the strongest link

The weakest or the richest soil

To grow a crop of human

If you hold on to your pride,

My name is gratitude,

I will remember you.

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