(Almost): The Essence of Everything
He who sees the absurd suffers this torture: to have the Final Word on the tip of his tongue but to be unable to pronounce it.
—René Daumal, tr. by Kelton W. Knight
what happened
at the end of
everything
speculators picking over the remains
like panicky stricken crackheads in the evening rain
hovering----snorting
two times strong
this is nothing
like I thought it would
be-----all shills and tangled
vines, withered grapes
descended to the cracked earth
parched, bloodstained earth
but there was sun still shining
there were Sunflowers
and we drank Sun tea
and wore Sundresses with matching parasols
I became Sun-blind
at other times I imagine the end
of everything to be
nothing
like what you believed to
be your responsibility
I thought the poet
would have
nothing
to say at the end of
everything, “it has all
been said” I thought
she would say
she began to chant (blue, yellow, red, green)
(blue, yellow, red, green)
and moan soon
words poured freely like blood from
a wounded heart and
nothing
could stop the bleeding
her phrases oxidized
on the page
disappearing in thin air until
nothing
was left.
