Apocalyptic Twilight

the sun sets
casting all in an apocalyptic light.
the bomb goes off
showering all in burning rain.
& in the radio-active twilight
there is nothing left to lose
nothing left to gain,
only cosmic debris,
twisting in tiny whirlwinds
on the infinite chessboard
on which the ghosts of tomorrow
play out their moves,
on which our trammelled carriages
move sedately along sequential ruts
playing an old song
now out of tune;
in this everlasting apocalyptic night
breeding supernovas
in the primal soup.
for it is all just a dance.
a cosmic bossanova
that you play on your yamaha
in an old pullover!
it simply an idea in the mind
of a stone
that says, ‘I’m a stone!
I must atone!
Phone home!’
but in the apocalyptic dawn
there is no one left to call.
there is just a valley of bone.
a prayer to a non-existent God.
something that is, and isn’t.
for this is the apocalyptic twilight,
where the wings of perception unfold!