The condition is apocalyptic images. A prism into phobia
of the coming end that never comes. We drum our fears
into a living, breathing onus on our sanity, as nothing nears,
and monsters evacuate from under bed before mother peers.
The dumb adhere to clumsy metaphor and unctuous tears
because they can’t motivate themselves to do something real.
That’s called Fear of God. You see, these feckless bitches
need a reason for existing, while I’m wishing that they didn’t.
|