The Baby Apocalypse
Is this consent to eradicating
What we know now will tomorrow fell
People running inside a metal crimson
Box face the wind like weaving wool?
This tree we will not use for homes
In the backyards of ways past
All this dark fuel we will pass
By has nothing to do with our wounds
We will seed into cloud the mourning sheen
We shall tolerate no frown nor jest
A stand be seen as solid as beast
Forever failure we will have not seen
You will take gestures from restructured table
I will stare at a baby in a hammock I wove
You will build and gather dust and tolerate no out
We will respect mothers' funereal route.
What we know now will tomorrow fell
People running inside a metal crimson
Box face the wind like weaving wool?
This tree we will not use for homes
In the backyards of ways past
All this dark fuel we will pass
By has nothing to do with our wounds
We will seed into cloud the mourning sheen
We shall tolerate no frown nor jest
A stand be seen as solid as beast
Forever failure we will have not seen
You will take gestures from restructured table
I will stare at a baby in a hammock I wove
You will build and gather dust and tolerate no out
We will respect mothers' funereal route.
Labels: apocalypse, poetry, postmodernism, poststructuralism
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