Black Thatch

There is a black thatch of clouds

across the dome of the world this morning

except along the eastern edge

where a red snake

stretches and burns.

Walking through the dark

giant winds from the north

run across the prairie

and push me in the back.

Everyone is racing

in their metal cars 

as if they were cars

on a long gone

roller coaster called

The Roller Coaster

which is leaning and rusting

in the theme park of time.

Crosses with dirty plastic flowers

and faded photos in warped frames

and stuffed animals with dirt-matted fur

and deflated foil balloons

are all sinking along the roadside

as a thousand engines

fly past with their

smoky violent music.

Nobody knows who died.

Time is ending

but it’s taking its time.

The music of failure

is in the air.

Those who have made

survival a god

are hopelessly lost.

Everyone 

is running late.

Now the whole

sky is on fire!

.