The Last Man

I've closed my eyes
and resigned myself to
the short pitch, all with
certainty that, without
a blurring line,
they will open again--
the splintering of the moment
lies in small degrees--
one foot futher away,
a shadow falling more to the right.

but today, when i peeled the
sheets from my body like
large, white petals,
and ate with such stale precision--
bringing the spoon to my mouth,
leaving something numb on my tongue--
and facing the windows that
were failing to black,
my family had fled, leaving behind
only hideous, mock shapes...

Below, miles under my toes, the
earth is cracking with heat--
burnings as rubies or roses,
pressing and blooming, sending
the horizon a flow,
and yes, i know,
this is the last day
of the world.