Three Fragments Of Apocalypse

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A poets describes the end of the world. Regardless of the stages, the apocalypse, she says, is lurking in the corner of your mind’s eye, ready to submerge you in a sea of sorrow.

Matsya-nyaya1

Office LEDs paint the shoal a flimsy silver
their hearts have sprouted tiny chains of serrated teeth
and you cannot tell the veins from maggots

ghoul-fish wrap steel-grey suits, corporate jargon
lap blood off each other’s necks, smiling, singing-
Sweet Ganges, run softly2

… plastic, dead fish-bones, breast implants
old wigs, shoe soles, chocolate wrappers
diesel chimeras, shimmering front axles …

in silicon wastelands, big fish eat the small fish
and small fish would not hesitate
to tear big ones in confetti,

given a chance.



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