apocalipsis / apocalypse

for hector and loretta

a certain discussion about the end of the world and now,
whatever our way of defending
those of us who are not on the trains
to die with the foot that holds the bulge,
foreshadowing that the weeds
will tangle over the graves of our children.

the end of the world in the notebook reads i am yours

we are

a universe

in danger of extinction.

I put a sticker for my love in the drawer
so that he could see it every morning.
read i love you
The world is ending, but I put a sticker
on it so that it could see that love is eternal,
even if everything ends,
even lovers.

I wanted to throw away all the ceramic glasses
against the wall one by one, with the patience
of those who know that cynicism is the present,

a certain desperation that causes us sadness, slaughter
or breaks the I don't know.

he broke the guitar.
I gobble up the bush.
I cut down the trees
so that the birds drown between shots.
these are the acts of sure desperation
of those who wait for the world to end.

none of the things we know will save us.

the poems do not have the feet in the letter.

we discuss polyamory as if the future is
not pollution,
tsunamis,
reverberations of totalizing destruction
in stages,

but neither is silence.

we can't sit around doing anything either.
hector, we cannot believe that the end of the world
is going to finish us off,

even though the earth does not remember us
and as a species we are an epic failure
of tiny proportions,
there is such a thing as a memory of oneself,
a way of living with dignity
even for the fact that we live
and survive,

a cellular stubbornness
although that is never enough,

but that it feels rich in that second
to punch the fascist
and collapse in rage in the snow.



apocalypse

for hector and loretta

certain discussion about the end of the world and the now,
whatever our ways of defending
those of us who aren't on trains
so we die with a foot on the bookbag,
portending that weeds
will get tangled on our children's tombs.

the end of the world in a notebook reads i'm yours
we are

a universe full of endangered

planets.

i put a sticker on my lover's drawer
so they'd see it each morning.
it reads te amo.
the world ends but i put a sticker
so they'd see that love is eternal,
even if everything ends,
even lovers.

i wanted to throw all the ceramic mugs
against the wall one by one, with the patience
of one who knows cynicism is the present,

a certain desperation that causes sadness, killings,
or shatters our i don't know.

i break the guitar.
i gorge on the thicket.
i chop down the trees
so the birds will drown amongst shots.
these are the acts of sure desperation
of those who wait for the world to end.

none of the things we know will save us.

the poems don't have their feet in the text.

we discuss polyamory as if the future
weren't contamination,
tsunamis,
the reverberations of the destruction
totalizing in stages,

but also, not the silence.

but also, we can't just sit there doing nothing.
Hector, we can't believe the end of the world
will end us,

even if the earth won't remember
and as a species we are an epic failure
of minute proportions,
there's such a thing as self-memory,
a way of living with dignity,
even if only because we live
and survive,

a cellular stubbornness
and for that to never be enough,

but for it to feel so good in that second
to punch a fascist
and collapse with rage in the snow.