The capital city is sinking
but there’s no place left to run
The entire world is on lockdown
though tickets to Mars
are selling for a dime a dozen
If digressing to an archipelago
is on your mind
I may have to ask you
exactly in which dimension
april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’m not prepared for anything
be it good news or bad
delivered by barefoot paperboy
or hopeless carrier pigeon
I understand chicken little
runs around with head cut off
half-baked and half-believable
on the highest branches
hawks and doves jockey for position
invisible wires coursing through
their leaf-like veins
eventually everything must break
be it wishbones or promises
whether made in earnest or haste
evening sky blows up peacefully
giving way to distilled silence
lanterns flickering far away
quietly ushering brand new day
october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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