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It's Always The Next Apocalypse
I saw this show this morning
about dinosaurs coming through
a wrinkle in time and I wept.
I know tonight I will close my eyes
and see very large teeth dripping with drool.
I need bars on my windows for protection,
need a friend, someone to hold me
at night when I whimper.
This is serious. Just like the sun.
It means business and one day
it’s going to reach out and grab us all.
A moustache and wide open mouth,
and do you see it, the world.
Maybe just shadow not stache
not mouth. Still whole.
What do we see in each
breath, there a carousel.
His winged pigs and angry tigers
rising and falling in circles.
What a breath! they may say.
Gold and chipped paint and children
Maybe asthma maybe emphysema.
That child next to him
laughs a glacier—
do you see it, the ice age
the ancient, the melting
with each breath.
The world, whole.
Emma Ramey lives in Grand Rapids, MI and is co-poetry editor for DIAGRAM
. Her poems have appeared in Third Coast
, The Mississippi Review
, American Letters & Commentary
, The Los Angeles Review
and elsewhere. Her chapbook, A Numerical Devotional
, was published by New Michigan Press.
Volume 1, Issue 7
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