EN // FR
Benjamin Franklin Apocalypse
The apocalypse is the electricity
is the kite
is the eye that shed a tear
for a dying age
in which gaslight was all the rage
and darkness a blessing you had to sleep through
Make the Apocalypse Great Again
The apocalypse is a gunshot
in a gasoline fire spitting
into the Mississippi
from a F-16 plowing
down highway 80 without
a turning signal
Apocalyptical Hoax
The apocalypse feeds
global warming a crab puff
laced with cyanide
to get rid of the competition
and declares its body
a hoax
Apocalyptical Doorways
I pass through the Apocalyptical doorway
stuffed with Tweedle Dees and carpenters
building sandcastles out of rotting meat
and twitch my bewitched nose three times in bewilderment
The apocalypse is bedazzled with walruses
whisking their whiskers through
its inner meat as I crawfish
my body past their surveillance
and stand before a giant hat beating steadily
like a watch or an army about to strike
The apocalypse is a ripple in time ripped
through the felt of my terrycloth heart
and I am in so deep that I can no longer see
light other than the flame in a rub a dub tub
of oysters simmering on low-heat
Erik Fuhrer holds an MFA from the University of Notre Dame. His work has recently appeared in Maudlin House, Ghost City Press, Cleaver, and Softblow. He tweets @Erikfuhrer and his website is erik-fuhrer.com.