(The celestial sobbing

of a year cut short.)

When the world ends,

we will all be high,

laughing at the telenovelas

we have lived.

The fire will clash with ice.

But where it all really

breaks down

is the anticipating

burning in the dumpster.

Like champagne

the old distrust bubbles

out from my upturned tumbler.

Now there is nothing

but trust.

(We all know how it ends.)