This is what the end of the world looks like

apparently

except the etymology of apocalypse is “unveiling”

and it’s not the last cycle in the Mayan calendar

and pretty soon science will merge with spirit through quantum physics

and our collective insanity will somehow simply melt away

as we realize our interconnectedness

and embrace new solutions to sweep away old problems

and embark upon a Roddenberry-esque era of peace and cooperation

that, or total annihilation in a mass of hellfire.

In which case I won’t have to pay back my student loans.

So there’s that.

When they say the painted ladies of San Francisco

they’re referring to the colorful townhouses

with their voluptuous Victorian visages

But when I hear it I think of the eucalyptus

in elegant ranks and long lean lines

aging gracefully, blushing velvets

sips of nostalgia tea

steeped long in memory

with a cup of pea soup dreams

foggy foodstuffs comforting

potato sack slides and piggyback rides

licking cake spoons and bright red balloons

finding cloud shapes

making forts of the drapes

sprinklers turned to water parks

getting grass stains until dark

night lights, food fights, feeding ducks

graham crackers and ice cream trucks

somewhere there along the way

I somehow forgot how to play

If it turns out somehow

that we are the dreams

of some otherwordly beings

what drab imaginings

Ink drawing on paper

once when driving farmland roads

skirted with indigo trees

a flock of tiny birds became

a heart upon the breeze

and the sweet earth sighed

its dream of compassion

through dry grass and buzzing bees

I smiled to know the universe shows

its love in little moments for me

Logistical geometries

skitter below at top speeds

and I wonder if these orange-vested masterminds

played Tetris and Jenga all the time

and if they ever dreamed

one day they’d be giant pieces

on a snakes and ladders board

cold strange steels

mystery upholsteries

offgassing resins

bombard and carry me

spaces full of empty

chunks of faux stability

 surfaces in passing

so vast and temporary

watching ice refuse

to melt in the desert

sun-baked stucco

shivers and sighs

at sunrise in Santa Fe

Pen & ink drawing of trees

I try to remind myself

that we are all one underneath

our different surfaces

our rough rocky layers

somewhere deep down we are

holding soul hands

and content just to be

connected like trees