hobart logo

September 20, 2016 Poetry


AM Ringwalt

Apocalyptic photo

Throat still wet with chocolate, I search for apocalypse:

too-dry grass in Southern California turned to powder,

China green tea pressed to dust by elephantine pearls,

furred chinchillas floating in the Pacific. Their sand-

colored fuzz as a nest wherein I lay. Nest of pollution,

oil drained from a parked Mercedes with a dagger

and thrust. Nest of resin and surf wax among blood.

I am alone until I think of death. An old love crouches

naked on the shore, snorts powdered grass, green

cocaine. He gums the earth drained from within me,

asks if the world is ending. I answer with language

he cannot understand, hydrangeas from my mouth.


image: Carabella Sands