Twilight is what the tittycrested romanticists say,
    Referring to old age, Twilight! Don’t they know
    That things always get brighter, at least until
    They become invisible. Look at the sky. Full
    Of bright pains. And the earth, full of great
    Flashing fears. Sparkling explosions are every-
    Where. Highways run with the liquid fire
    Of angst and hypochondria. Moonlight
    On the cornfields mixes and flows like an
    Immense sob. The next time you see a line
    Of geezers shuffling toward the check-out
    Remember they are entering the arcade of
    Death. Flashing lights and crashing bells
    Surround them, and the only darkness is
    The space between the soles of their shoes
    And the floor. Hup, atwo, athree, afour—
    The slow march and the muffled drum. So
    Never fear, they will get there in blinding
    Dawn when the day of demolition has just
    Begun. Whoop-de-do and tum-tum-tum,
    Benighted night will never come.