Apocalyptic poems, posted every m-f.


there are no toys in the future,
and so anika plays with rusted mufflers scavenged from
the dead car gallery

she watches the crows circling in disquiet,
and gives them voices
makes them have funny conversations about the weather
or whatever

anika builds giant forts
out of those impossibly long rows of shopping carts,
down by the barracks

and then she goes missing.

they find most of her,
pecked apart by crows –
her mother finally stops believing in god.

i want to reach forward in time and console that godless woman,
tell her fairy tales about the past
about those scarce centuries where children
had the luxury of being children

i want her to know that anika did everything she could
to shine in a world not made for her,
i want to omit the details of her death.

these visions are starting to unravel me


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