By | 1 March 2015

from Apocalypse Dreams

The world is green and in flower, delicate but fecund
So green it almost hurts: no deadness anyplace, not a twig
Nor a fallen leaf but the bright greens of later spring
and waving vari-coloured flowerheads. Everywhere is growing,
the ground & the treetrunks have trails of climber’s leaves
twisting their extensions, their ascents. This is life.
We too are bubbling and irrepressible: laughing, shouting.
I am on your shoulders, rollicking, others too are playing,
romping: we are highly happy and we are young. Each one
of us knows that this is doomed, that we and the greengreen world
are dying; that soon, so soon, obliteration. We know
there is poison in the leaves and in our laughter.
That there are only minutes left. Our knowledge is
incommensurable. We are happy.

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