The end of the world as we know it

is not

when the first sniper fires their first bullet,

or when the first missile launches

from a clearing in the woods,

or even when tar is added to a first fragile Molotov

and its wick sealed tight,

but

in the scramble to escape a shelled-out ruin,

keeping low across twisted girders

with just what can be clutched.

 

Life is more than endless. 

Always on the way to somewhere else.

For 30 seconds before and after

                                                    blood flow stops,

gamma pulses heighten. As sentience clouds,

the rhythms of alpha, beta,

                                            delta, theta harmonise

in our last analepsis.

                                 Until then, we cannot guess its sum.

 

iii. 2020