nothing happens on thursday

i have seen the end of the world

on a tuesday that stumbled into a wednesday

forgetful of where the car is parked

but still searching under the promise of night

and the red electrocardiogram of modernity that

will find the beat of an indian man who is not indian

nor native to this land and who doesn’t understand the wordplay

because it is dull when he feels dull in it

using the rented language of colonial powers that

flag grammar while shadowing death

though they see no sun

and he doesn’t either

eyes full of black

and the knowledge that loves got a way

of getting away

into some white woman who says she adores different men

and does this make her different

and do you like different

doing it differently

until the finality comes sounding the same

as all claps tied from all beginnings

in an apocalypse that saves no one

and an universe that becomes safer

as a result

she holes her mouth

empty empty empty

like the last time