George T. Mormann

September 23, 2017

Always Another Apocalypse

I completely forgot, until I got news of Kylie Jenner’s pregnancy,
that today is supposed to be the apocalypse.
Again.
I recall following the last apocalypse (not the Mayan one: that was a misinterpretation of their calendar and our own), and it was slated for 6pm Illinois Time, which may or may not be sunset in Jerusalem.
All the country’s pious radio stations abruptly quieted, as if to mimic
the sudden blackening of the Earth, like people wouldn’t feel tremors beneath their feet, or hear the screams of a million sinners, before they themselves perished.
No, the last apocalypse was treated like a flip of a switch in God’s cellar as he turned off the lights after retrieving his spare can opener.

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September 7, 2017

Writer’s Block

Stepping into the void
of this old factory
I smell only the dust
that awakes to the clack of my heels.
The rust of use blankets the head
and keeps it warm throughout
a seemingly endless winter.
I am unable to imagine
the ghosts;
the wind has their breath.
It creeps through a checkerboard
of broken windows,
or mountains as I see them
from here,
on the production floor.

 

Originally posted September 17, 2012

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August 26, 2017

Century of Progress

SNEED-081717-01.JPGGuard o’er the travertine
casting prospectus to sea

For the mariner,
his light

For a rower,
it’s shadow

For the pilot,
a token

From Antica it shall
again be pilfered

And again, promises
to harbor triumph

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August 21, 2017

Comparable Meagerness

She grew up poor.
Her parents laid
off the nanny
when she learned
to feed herself.

For me, nothing
felt as rich as
a hot shower
following
a year’s wait.

This, she never
could understand
because water
always flowed
warm where she’s from.

Still, we endured
a similar
hunger, making
for sordid
competition.

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August 18, 2017

Not Since the Cold War

have we witnessed a curtain over the sun of this magnitude

so put on your smokescreen glasses and redeem yourself for a chance
to win a free grande unicorn frappuccino if you text the eclipse emoji to 122312.

In the case the darkness does not swallow the Earth herself
—erasing her Japanese tattoos —— extinguishing her cheap perfumes—
we’ll go back in the basement and recount our stash
of shampoo and crackers & hide under our childhoods in wait of
the Chosun one’s vessel of Kapitalist repellent

unless an Indiana Jones unearths another Mayan premonition
beneath the ruins of a Borders Christmastime Calendar Kiosk

then we can laugh off the superstition of another kingdom
wrought with fools who swim in blood from the bay of pigs

waiting for Jesus to come

but he always pulls out at the last minute

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