Doomsday

What burns in the mind

as ravishing roaring rage,

the embers of terror taunting

from prophetic embryos,

oh the sacred sights

of apocalyptic numerology,

who spin the spine

in their tribulation catharsis.

 

But wait!  Mind please regurgitated

time’s quintessence,

wasn’t this passage of paranoia

already spent on year equations,

which cast the world’s doom

that never happen?

 

So give me soul, give me dreams,

just give me a sale for nine days more

at the ninety-nine cent discount store!

 

I lust the opulence of crap,

that pure adrenaline of bargain beauties,

let me drool over plastic cheap trash,

give me ecstasy in the sweet balm

rich in paltry toy pleasures.

 

Grant me paradise amid those aisles

where the second thrills are bountiful,

it will be the incense of my soul

at least until it breaks.

 

If by chance some seer

lucks out after a thousand wrong guess

and this 999 makes us all demon vomit

then I can enjoy it with a throw away phone

along with some really crappy batteries.