by Anthony Moll
After Lars von Trier
My favorite apocalypse
starts with an orphan planet
starts with a wedding
starts with a star somewhere
south of where it should be
My favorite apocalypse
knows sadness refuses
to work for circumstance
but who wouldn’t want
washed in lavish sorrow
to spend The End
tucked in taffeta
gown as the sky bows
to kiss an emerald lawn
like vow-bound believer
when we collide I want
sent off as my worst self
wrapped in black basque riding
cross-eyed cub caught in sand trap
unvexed by endtimes hailstorm
My favorite apocalypse
consolidates water bottle, takeout
straw, SIM card, Chemex, combustion
engine, fast-fashion black jacket,
apple orchard, first born
not a breath left to ask
Are you happy? Aren’t you happy?
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