To Be Continued (Ars Poetica)

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I expected more from the end of the world. But the
sun came up the following morning. A herd of
pronghorn loiters near Gunnison.
Castle Rock weathers timelessly.
Cars accelerate. Ghost towns
wither in the rearview.

           Coyote says: the world ends
           more than you realize.
           Last Wednesday makes twice
           I know of.

The apes we once were
shivered in the howling moon, wove
gods of war from their dread.
The apes we still are
spin plots from mud and iron,
vapor and deadwood and
swatches of tattooed skin.

           Raven says: harbingers are shiny things,
           strung with hair and
           flecked with blood.

           Fox says: narratives are either
           rationalization or conspiracy.
           Something happened. Then
           something else happened.

The world ends
not with a bang,
not even a whimper, but
with ellipses.