Speculative Fiction: Apocalypse

let’s say the world doesn’t end
and you go to its edge
and yes, it is a real place: the ocean pounding
and pounding at the gates, white foam
winged and salty and lonely sluicing
and feral will you
stay there, on your hands and knees
looking for god count your infinite
offenses into an unending rosary try to be good
on a land you never really
could claim kin to tilling your
lonely into a field

or will you find another way
make your own heaven know
the seed that makes you roam
this world like tina turner in mad max:
black bad assed and silver haired
enthroned in your own bare skin beguiled in
your own story its siren call