by Jarek Jarvis
I am coming to terms with the cosmic
horrors of everyday reality. Catastrophes
propagate around me. Even if I ignore
the peripheries, I know that for
millennia you have hidden your face
behind the sun. Despite light pollution,
I scan the muddy horizon in anticipation
of your eventual reemergence. Sure,
some Mayan mathematician may have
forgotten to carry a one, but more
likely some misanthrope crafted
the prophecy to transmute fear and
ignorance into piles of cash. Still,
my gut tells me to brace for a collision.
I have been waiting for you my whole life.