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NOW... APOCALYPSE

The first box that arrived felt measured in stirring its love, took its time and danced a slow, involuntary drudge.

The second box swooped in- full tilt, red, white and blue, its gruesome melody taunting me in a complicit rue.

The third box that came home, yellow pine aroma aloft, pinched the air, stench of a war movie I’d watched.

The fourth box that reared its death to the terminal skies marched with a cadence, lockstep primordial demise.

The fifth and sixth and the three thousandth box to come suffered horror, hundreds of millions of gutless tongues.



© 2009 by mark prime



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