Smoke Signals

The year dissolves

with a snap of the fingers

and the Sun goes grey

and the birds leave early.

The exalted tongues

drip wet with taste,

for there is fire coming

and they eat destruction.

 

The only thing

that has not survived

this initial salvo,

this blitzkrieg run,

has been reality

and the Art of The Truth.

They were gunned down,

run down

and found hanging

in their hotel rooms.

 

When does mass extinction matter?

When it’s a suicide.

 

The wind changes

and this means more to me now

than it did a week ago.

The whole world seems to inhale

as the sky goes blue

and the air is clean.

So quick are we to forget

that this is just a lull in the chaos,

brief respite from the future,

but it will return.

 

The future always comes back.

It doesn’t leave us alone for long.

After a few clear days,

sure enough,

that South West wind

blows the smoke back in

and you can almost taste

the ominous fear

setting in.

 

Yeah,

these days

I keep my rifle clean

and I have good DOPE

out to about half a mile.

It’s time to set affairs in order.

So I clean my room,

fix up the house

and think about getting ready for the winter.

These days are getting short

and that smoke keeps rolling in.

 

It’s time to abandon avatars

for the real thing.

Hope for the best, I guess

and prepare for the worst.

Try not to lose our minds

with the masses.

So I sit here,

looking down range,

reading the wind

and watching the world burn.

 

HG – 2018