One Last Sunset

 One Last Sunset


Only three months post collapse,

a lifetime gone in a season.


So, I made it to midwinter.

Saw the fatal snowfall

stretch across the fields.


None of McCarthys blood gangs came to be-

 the only blood is spattered on the

chiffon anthrax, coughed dregs of an esophagus.


The anatomical sputter seeps crimson into

orange, all the longerlight colors of a late afternoon 

sunset in December.

There aren't any sunsets anymore.


Only the rot of a conscious corpse,

only the clotty grey of poison sky.

I look west and know that these dead colors

are nothing but my own corneas bleeding to snowmelt.


Hell, if they aren't just as beautiful.


Published By: Loyola University Maryland

2023

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