Rappahannock Review | Jason McCall
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Jason McCall

Wally West at the End of Time

Speed kills
memory. Does lightning

mourn the rent oak?
Does the viper’s jaw lament

the hare’s lost milestones?
How long did I run

to get back to the apartment before blood
stained the carpet? How many times

have I circled the world
to find myself naked

in the mirror after my first time?
Only the past holds

promise. How many
footprints have you left

on your grandchildren’s grave?
Have you ever watched your failures swell

until all earths are pock-scarred and sore?
Every future is a bullet

with seven billion names.
Where are the watchtowers

and guardians? The end is neither Atlantean
throne nor apocalyptic fire pit.

It belongs to the phantom
snails and the star-nosed moles.

Don’t lose the sun.
Don’t lose the sun.

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