the last last weekend

We throw our laptops
off the overpass and watch
them break apart, a million
green-and-silver pieces
while the horizon burns.

Jack-booted thugs walk
the streets, with their no-knock
warrants, their flesh-peeled faces,
their teeth in bone smiles.

We whistle tunes from old shows
no longer streaming.

We count the teeth
in our pockets and wonder
what will these buy? A crack
of sunrise, a few twinkies.
The slow and inevitable
heat death of stars.

One reply on “the last last weekend”

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