Apocalypsia II

Marshes where
a meadow’s worth was liquidated,
all life irradiated with a jaded sense of
survival, and though the
nearby ghost towns idle,
reprisal has become antiquatated as glass beaches
themselves.

(Almost anticipated
by men who
baited Hell

with makeshift scythes,

but time again I’ve learned
that every reaper has his
price.)

Mistaking bated breath for
enlightment, we took the
baby steps of giants, widdled audacity down

to a science so

they could split atoms
from Eve.

For one second, we allowed
ourselves the belief

we were holding
God in our hands, and caution
be damned for we can strip the
Devil himself of
fire.

But for
ghosts in the currents
and their constant assurance
humans make habitual liars

we would
never have
known
we were wrong.

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