Typewriter Series #2672 by Tyler Knott GregsonThe end is coming,...

Typewriter Series #2672 by Tyler Knott Gregson

The end is coming, I sense it bubbling up
like a caldera still alive and pulsing with life,
still ready to restart this chaos we call
civilization.  I sense it like early warning
earthquakes and livestock lying down,
huddled up against a storm we still can’t see,
blue skies bluffing and convincing us otherwise.
Death is knocking, like a moth at the door,
like a raven perched at the peak of this house,
a sparrow flying through your open window,
it’s here and we just don’t want to see it,
turn our heads and hope it goes away,
pull the covers tighter around our heads,
hide until we think we’re safe.

This false Shangri-La, this curated museum
of falsehood and phoniness.  Here,
ten thousand photographs all the same,
here, ten thousand cliches repeated
in ten thousand ways, the same words recycled
and regurgitated and spit back out.
Somehow we became infant birds, featherless
and naked and screaming for more,
somehow we lost sight of the horizon line.

Let the end come, let the ash cloud from this
eruption cover the blue light glow we call sun,
let it paralyze our thumbs from mindless double
tapping on glass and battery.  

Restart.  Give us sticks and soil
and let us write again.  Let us gather
around and in some warm firelight
finally feel understood.

-Tyler Knott Gregson-