Dear Amnesia, Beloved Forgetfulness,
erase the world so nothing can find it.

The boots and the screams are waiting
at the end of the page.

Dear Blizzard of Nothingness, Undulant dust,
save by erasing—

snuff out the roses, red and hot,
as the snout of a bomb, pluck off the sky,

repeal the polar ice cap. Let even that fat oxymoron,
the “industrial park” disappear into the dark

amphitheater of this speech.
The vague and the meek, the goat and the sheep,

let their small triangular brains, their tri-corner minds,
be overgrown with emptiness.

I will keep a transcript of the disappearance.

Even in this murky room where a black Smith Corona
sits on a desk with the air

of a hearse waiting for a funeral,
here are the last few words huddled together

like bees in a hive buzzing and plotting.
Don’t let them survive

they will gather and flourish, congregate and lie.
Turn the snout of the pen against them.

Cut their throats with the scythe of a comma.
There can be no limit to our longing for emptiness.

Darkness is rising with the speed of light.
Beloved Forgetfulness, Beloved Erasure,

whenever I stoop over the hard heart of this desk
the words are waiting—The soldiers will come. The city will burn.