Diana Jurss

The Last Disaster

From Armenia to Lockerbie
all places in between
people sleep uneasy

fearful of the sky,
the earth
it doesn’t matter where

The thunderous noise will waken you,
and when you look out the window
to the horizon,
you will feel squashed where the earth
and sky come together.

Another Andy Warhol piece
(or it ought to be)
“The World Seated in an Electric Chair”

I awaken from my dream to a ruckus outside.
I walk to the door and step out.
There, in the sky,
a hundred thousand silk-screened squares,
the globe perched in an electric chair
a hundred thousand orange times across the sky.
in the center,
on the horizon, the sun suddenly burns through
the paintings — canvasses curling in flames,
blackened paper wisping upward.

The streets are lined with people
looking on in horror. Then, amazingly,
and with a horrific blast, two gigantic blocks
tumble from the fire. Two tremendous
bouncing clumsily this way, shaking the ground
with every contact. It was panic with an orange
background. People were screaming,
running in all directions. I probably would
have, too, but I didn’t know which way to run —
the dice were not rolling in a straight line —
I went back inside my house

and shut the door