The End

by Adam Clay

Of the things we’re distant to, the sun

isn’t the first thing that comes to mind.

No matter, some matter. Light forgives

inaction with such ease

that we could learn a little something

by sitting still and staring into it.

In most faces I see a caesura without even trying.

I keep missing buttons to the point

of not bothering anymore. The news is better

off, and the way we view the end of the world

is too compact and simple, it turns out.

I’m glad

to compartmentalize in a sudden sort of way

because this world is a place where a truck backfires

and a bullet casing rolls around in the street

like a lopsided marble headed somewhere.

Adam ClayAdam Clay is the author of A Hotel Lobby at the Edge of the World (Milkweed Editions, 2012) and The Wash (Parlor Press, 2006). A third book of poems, Stranger, is forthcoming from Milkweed Editions. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Boston Review, Ploughshares, Denver Quarterly, Iowa Review, New Orleans Review, and elsewhere. He co-edits TYPO Magazine and lives in Kentucky.