final thoughts at the end of the world

because we are collapsing i’ve run

out of things to talk about. you’d think

it would be the other way around,

but here i am, tummy-ached and rotten-

toothed with all this devastation;

all i got’s a dumb guffaw and sigh,

this we-tried-our-best-well-not-really,

this kiss-me or fuck-me or slap-me

stupid just make meaning from my body.

i’m terrified that this is it. that we’ll sink

into the earth’s gaseous memory

while i wave goodbye, eye’s yawning,

open my mouth to speak but burp instead.

Brendan Walsh has lived and taught in South Korea, Laos, and South Florida. His work appears in Rattle, Glass Poetry, Indianapolis Review, American Literary Review, and other journals. He is the winner of America Magazine's 2020 Foley Poetry Prize, and the author of five collections, including 'Buddha vs. Bonobo' (Sutra Press), and 'fort lauderdale' (Grey Book Press). His chapbook 'concussion fragment', winner of the 2021 elsewhere Chapbook Prize, is forthcoming from elsewhere Press. He’s online at www.brendanwalshpoetry.com.