Untitled Number Zero

I have rebelled against Time.
The last second.
The last minute.
I have written the last message.
The last flower has wilted and the Anjels wear camouflage.
The last libation is poured to the earth and God is dead.
I have defeated space and taken position with my
sniper-rifle between the letters of words in small print.
The last needle injects it’s cure into the last vein
and the eyes of the last cloud roll to the back of it’s head.
The last drop of the last bottle feels like the first time at last.
A melody reaches over the hills and pulls in the sea.
A dead mother left out to dry on the concrete screams at me.
I’ve seen the only revolution that succeeded and it had no name,
no objective,
no revolutionaries.
I.
I.
I.
I’ve seen….
I’ve seen fire sleepwalk across cities and dream of burning houses.
I’ve seen ice-crystals form on children’s eyes and stuffed animals
feed on human flesh.
I’ve seen the last hand pick up a handful of dust.
Throw it in the wind.
And somewhere it land as a boulder,
or a woman’s dress used as a flag,
or a knife through an invisible chest,
or all of these or you,
in another body another language.
The last lovers died a long time ago so the Night no longer
has to conceal anything.
The last vision of an ecstatic Race – a beautiful whore with legs open,
black blindfold on – priests walked over and closed the curtain.
The last of the last the first of the first the gate had already
been locked when they got there, dropping to their ass
on the ground drawing figures in the sand.
From the rubble of sky-scrappers vines & tendrils grow that chase
you in your sleep, even me in my form of a hidden lake.
How would you end this without holding up or putting down the pen?
The Earth in it’s last breath yells out LAST CALL and the drunken flies
order another drink.