The Mouth

Tomorrow waits, a gaping gob.  In fact

 The future bares its teeth, a gaping throat,

Its lips with spittle dripping.  We can act,

But like an idiot we must misquote

The universe if we prefer a smile

To truth.  If not a slobbering moron, then

The cosmos is a whale’s mouth, widest mile

Or wider, sucking in its victims, men

And women, children dreaming in their brains,

And everything alive.  We cannot close

That orifice, baleens that eat domains

Of living, life to die and decompose.

  Until the nearly endless time of time

    This mouth will swallow.  We are turned to slime.