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On the World’s End and Other Poems

Paul Lojeski: Centuries changed nothing: the dungeons are still full. Try telling a child that truth. Go ahead, I dare you.
End of the World

On the World’s End

Half the species once
roaming here have gone
extinct. As my pappy

used to say just before
blacking out after a hefty
vodka binge, never leave

a job half-finished, son.
So we’re hard at work
extinguishing what’s left,

committed as usual to
the task not the result and,
by golly, we’ll kill every

damn thing here because
nobody tells us what
to do, bud. Nobody.

The History of Silence

Centuries changed nothing:
the dungeons are still full.

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Try telling a child that truth.
Go ahead, I dare you.

without money

you become a burning
fuse, a wire of hot

sparks sputtering closer
and closer to the heart.

At night, blinking in the
dark, you dance: frantic.

No Hard Feelings

That blank stare of history built these burning roads.
The construction was effortless like rain falling

or a baby sleeping. It is a magnificent deception.
At the exit, a faint glow, a solitary bell ringing.

Humans

Ravenous of need
and remorseless
intent day and night
they render flesh
upon the bloody
banks of river Death.
Most mostly get
away with heinous
acts, free hearts
never broken
on dark nights by
bullets or bombs,
hearts unrestrained,
overflowing with
unquenchable desire
for the blade’s hot kiss.

Paul Lojeski