We are the pieces and the puzzler.
We are the poison and the antidote.
Kludges and lacunae swim in our oceans.
We tap to the tick of death
as we descend to oblivion.

We ride the bicycle of birth and death,
the motorcycle of suffering, the limousine
of ambition, the helicopter of passion,
the airplane of love, the rocket
of the consciousness of God

but now all the boomers have bombed,
the has-beens have all been had,
the never-has-beens no longer long
to be. The six days of creation
will now unravel all at once.

Don’t pray on it. It won’t work. God, like us,
just made it up as he went along
and now doesn’t know and cannot help
with what comes next. It is all on us.
and we’re impotent. It’s already too late.

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