Aug 132013

by Jeremiah Durick


Worlds must end this way — tired of time and

truth, finally ready to join the nothing they have

always envied, the void they avoided through

superstition and suspicion of the otherness,

the absence of seasons, the thaw and chill of

years, the drift and drip, the step and style of

it all. Worlds must end this way, on a day, like

this, as bland, as tedious as this, a Thursday so

dull it cuts through the gristle and the bone and,

finds the nothingness, they fear, inside of it all.

Worlds must end this way – resigned, terrible,

terrified of it all, the thought that this might go

on and on forever, knowing full well they can’t

pretend that this was somehow the expected,

anymore than they can feign a willingness, or

wisdom, or even the worldliness that held them

together so well. Worlds must end this way –

must have seen it coming, felt this grinding,

heard it coming nearer, yesterday they must

have feared the tomorrow they now have, they

now have become, Thursday worlds caught up

in coming to an end they can explain to them-

selves, apologize for. Worlds end this way –

clean up, set things straight, arrange, arise and go

now, leave notes here and there for their children

to take the dog and canary and what they like

to eat and when. Worlds sometimes end this way

as quiet as a Thursday, as near as now, as far as

the black hole they’re dropped into tomorrow.