theanimalofgrimtimes.

The casino would survive an
atomic blast,
and cast its sycamore
shadow over all the cinders
of the city, glowing in the
orange sun Niagara the coast
of never ending apocalypse
would rise- a blue and cool
gaming obelisk
wide with wealth
and deterioration,
the so hardened souls would
inhale devastation
like Canadian fresh west air
and glow green verdigris
a copper so clear
a currency of love would flow from
their fingers like coins,
and caressed slots, all opened
and loose as the streets
asphalt melted and shimmering
sin in the
gloom shine off tar, all noon and
snowing the evening grows and i alone would
stand to record the last syllables of time
as the sky turns to stone, flakes
sharp as stars fall from frozen
obsidian, to tear the bridal veil
and inscribe humanity's name one last
time across the face of falling water.