Conjectures



2020
will be a flapper
dressed in drag,


a .44 auto mag
full of black talon hollow points
with a filed-off serial number.


It will be a cup of
Jim Jones kool-aid with
the perfect amount of sugar;


AI’s QuinceaƱera
as the ghost in machines
graft themselves onto our DNA; 


a T-1000 doing Vaganova ballet.


It will be romance’s last stand,
a quest for love by hearts
believing in happenstance;


a crusade led by creatives
and empaths who’ll laugh in the face
of inevitable slaughter.


It will be securing a bag
that will leave you empty;
an ice cream truck with no brakes;
a heroin addict on broken roller skates
sliding into oncoming traffic.


It will be the part of the scary movie
where you cover your eyes;
an order of cold, soggy 

McDonald’s fries that 
you don’t discover 
until you get home.



© 2020 Abruvanamedsly



Apocalypse


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