Apocalypse later
In the kitchens of infinity
they are cooking up the apocalypse –
a dash of doom,
the spices of gloom,
then the morbid soup
is ready to consume.
In the dancehalls of eternity
they are doing the apocalypso –
the palm trees swaying to the tunes
of tropical terror.
In the showers of the apocalypse
they are washing off all traces of infinity.
But infinity has tattooed itself
onto the biceps of oblivion.
In the bedrooms of forever,
the apocalypse takes a nap.
Clockwise Cat publisher and editor Alison Ross dabbles delicately in verse. She also spews incessant invective. You may peruse her precious poesie and rowdy rants online. She was once nominated for Best of the Net, but lost out to savvier scribes. To her giddy bemusement, she was also selected for the 2012 Erbacce Prize shortlist. Alison’s personal utopia would be to dwell inside a painting executed by Miro, wherein Kahlo, Basquiat, Rimbaud, Paz, Allende, Borges,
Seuss, Lynch and The Cure all converge in felicitous, Zen-surrealistic bliss.
