Chant for the End of the World

Chant for the End of the World

If there is god, if and a mother; if there is future in place of the past; if there is science; if there are roads left; if there is silence, magic and glass; if there is sunrise, if it continues, if it is curling, light on the mast.

If there are circles, if they move inward; if there is any air left to breathe; if there is dust on the soles of the young ones; if there are purple spots on their knees; if we remember, if we’re forgotten; if nothing remains for us but the seas; if we lose aspect, if we regain it; if we can’t rise up from disease.

If we are lonely; if we exploded; if vermillion hangs from the trees; if there are slushes; if there are gunners; if there is nothing much left to see; if we are clouded, if we are shrouded; if we can’t seem to outlive the past; if we are merchants or huddled destroyers; if we come together at last.

If we can say them, words in the future; if we sustain their potential blast; if we perceive that they’re building their own worlds; if we plunge into ebullient gas; if there we find refuge, inside the verb world; if we conceive of non linear time; if we roll over; if we roll under; if we can ever hide in that line.

For if we still utter, utter words without knowing, meaning pervades the subsequent space; never a real world; never a false one; a world built on perception of senses and place; if we recant them, if we withdraw them, still our utterances remain in the fight; words are the portals, when we are muted, to transfer interior ghosts into light.