"End of It," "Climate Change or Not," and "Back to Black and White"
End of It
there’ll be no time
for us that recognize
the passing of it
to remember
Michelangelo, Mozart and Rembrandt
imagery dashed to the depths
pianos blown out of the sky
and what about
institutionalized wet brains
robotically chewing some factory processed carrion
what we are
there will be no time
left to describe
the fury evolved
in the evolution of
failure
it’s a damn shame
I was planning on a starlet
on each elbow
by age 60
Climate Change or Not
the other night yet another local city burned
I can smell it in the walls
it’s becoming normalized in California
to absorb the Inferno
to don customized gas masks
as the walls of everywhere
teem with vermin
I wish I had a dog
to alert me of these ideas
or a Sigmund Freud bobblehead
the last couple weeks have killed dozens of people
in California
as science maintains
we as a people
have certain enemies in high places
Back to Black and White
hermit crabs scuttle across pearl moonscapes
while the mice in the floorboards
have their own brand of justice
I gotta go to the doctor
because something is wrong
even the butcher shop’s closed
waves pulse and recede, frothy white
thoroughbred horses breathe heavily
trapped in their ancient skulls
while the sky just storms and rains
you might be a break in the monotony
a saxophonist encouraging call and response
then you quit smoking for good
while I notice
in the middle of the night
a pair of scissors at my throat
who listens to forewarnings?
just follow the fireworks
and not so suddenly
the ceiling fan ceases to rotate
electricity down
of course the water is shut off without any notice
it takes very little panic before
the people start flocking for the toilets
for more reasons than one
but no way to boil out the salt
the acidity
the shit
a grey sheen decolorizes reality
the film strip of life finally achieving the circuitous
evolution of art
Jay Passer's poetry first appeared in Caliban magazine in 1988, alongside the work of William S. Burroughs and Wanda Coleman. He is the author of 15 collections of poetry and prose and his work has been included in several anthologies as well as print and online publications worldwide. A debut novel, Squirrel, was released in 2022. A lifelong plebeian, Passer has labored as dishwasher, barista, soda jerk, pizza cook, housepainter, courier, warehouseman, news butcher and mortician's apprentice. Originally a native of San Francisco, Passer currently resides in Los Angeles, California. His latest collection of poems, Son of Alcatraz, released in 2024 by Alien Buddha Press, is available from Amazon.