Monday, 26 July 2010

weird crap about an astronaut post-apocalypse

All that remains is you
    caught between June and July,
    sweat upon your brow at Durdle Dor
    that time we decided
    to be friends again. We made
      ironic sand castles,
      and swam in an ironic sea
      I was happy that day

    - nothing much else lingers
      in this blue empty.

Yet in spite of all hazards
    accidents explosions yet
    despite this huge gloom the
    six billion now dead (including
    you) our Earth atrophied,

        there you are again,
        holding my hand,
        gliding through the cosmos, and

        I am stuck in the red mouth
        of grief where no alibi,
        change of heart, promise could
        sweep away what happened,
        for it has happened - it is done,

        and I mourn for the first lines
        of all the books I won't finish now.

In this blue room who is all colour
    and in its oblivion,

        you glitter: porcelain wolf;
          your very DNA magical brave, potent.

So here Spacecraft R9T I am,
    peering out the second porthole,
    in my angel suit alone, survivor,
    I watch

        as you (graduation, '07) waltz
        tumble and flirt through time
        and space transcend all barriers
        as you always had done,
        all centuries stitched into you
        all moments ever are dust
        beneath your fingernails -

        yes you Jerome, whom I haven't seen
        in as long as the stars do shine,
        witness me post-Earth
        to supervise my End of Days,
        you step forwards across space
        and the blue room allows it.
        A golden smirk, I smile, because

        God left: and there was you.

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