On Raymond Pettibon http://artillerymag.com/tottenham-corner-raymond-pettibon/
An acute sensation of falling
for and into a black hole:
a soft focus abyss, otherwise known as bliss.
Or a train wreck, carrying hazardous waste,
something I can look forward to
looking back on with distaste.
Constantly fighting funny familiar feelings of futility,
trying to put the brakes on the morbidity,
but it keeps rolling down the line.
And as I watch it disappear,
life as I have long known it,
becomes all the more precious
and acutely defined.
If this really is the last of life
that I am far from savoring,
why am I still wavering?
Why not just get it over with?
It seems as good a time as any.
The foliage rustles
with a soothing morbidity,
while trees are distant and aloof,
as if aware of my fate
but requiring proof.
Nature has given up on me
and beauty is my enemy.
I sought it out and found it
where it didn’t belong.
Now it elicits difficult memories
and it’s just gone.