VANISHING INTERIOR

Little patches of grass disappear
in the jaws of lusty squirrels

who slip into the spruce.
Cars collapse into parts.

Spring dissolves into late spring, 
the kitten into the cat.  

A tray of drinks departs from the buffet 
and voila! the party’s over.  

All that’s left are some pickles 
and a sprig of wilting 

parsley on the rug.  Day turns sideways 
and wanders off into dusk.  

When I think of all those 
gong-tormented Mesozioc seas 

I feel a ripple of extinction
and blow a smoke ring through the trees.

Soon there will be nothing left here but sky.
When I think about the fact 

I am not thinking of you, 
it is a new way of thinking about you.