It’s the end of the world
as I know it
at

The front door in
white pellets on
the walk

The constant disappearance
of everything
I know

Stones the size of a clamor
melt the
roof

Suddenly there’s this
hail of hail and
then

Suddenly this not-hail hailing the
il n’y plus rattle
of hail

In the afternoon
hailstorm of
dissipation

Everything is washed up
vertiginous
in the

One-way street
racketed
down

To not even
dribble or
hum.