Nimbus

When the shock wave knocks the windows
from their frames and sends its
ripples through the ocean
will our lightning storm descend
and cover everything?
During the darkness downtown
all our stationary trains
collect the ghosts of former passengers
still sticky from the ectoplasm, laughing.
Will there be anyone walking down those
tunnels in the undergrowth?
Protected by the tightest fit,
a woman’s legs in stockings pace
the marble floor.
Will a nostalgia for Christmas lights
over take the horror of the holiday
when everything is priced out
of the of the market.
I guess by horror I mean gasoline,
and plastic wrap for left overs,
and anything that burns well
for insurance claims.
When the bike lanes fade
and horses kick the fences down
escaping back to pastures where
the grass is like a firewall.
When we cannot read our emails
and the post has used up all it’s ammunition
there will be no more annoying little notices.
Will it finally be time to take the analogue
time machine out of the garage
and pedal backward to a better year?
With all the clarity that shows up
in the deepest fear
where every eye is twitching.
I look forward to melting crayons into candles,
and using the wrappers left behind
to roll up cigarettes and joints
like they are going out of style.
I guess the coolest way to kill yourself
is waiting for the day that does it for you.
When the sitcoms and the news shows
are set free from all their time slots
and there is nothing on
between the two antennas.
Upper atmosphere explosions
look like fireworks that
darken up the sky they cannot occupy,
but who could live without that light?
I ask you.