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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.

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