where’s the off switch
for all
endeavors
the icicle of reason
has melted
leaving a small puddle
of fictions
at my feet
and we will build
and build
assemble great systems
to the outer edge of the milky way
and back
the civilizations, the civilizations
with its civilians hooraying
their democracies pushing
the sciences inventing
the artworks embellishing
the museums and the highways accelerating
the capital erecting
the monuments
of the great laughter of achievement
while the black smoke of reality
swirls
into nothingness dreamt.
Nihilistic Poetry