Doomsday

The dark that’s gathering strength these days is submissive, kinky, silken, willing; stretched taut as a trampoline. World events rattle by like circus trains we wave at occasionally, as striped, homed and spotted heads poke out their windows. Feels like I’m wearing a corset, though I haven’t a stitch on. Burn the place setting I ate from, OK? and destroy the easy chair I languished in. Let birds unravel my lingerie for nesting materials. Fingers poised on the piano keys, I can’t think what to play. A dirge, a fugue? What, exactly, are crimes against nature