the submerged submersible

he closes the door behind him and walks out onto the street.

and as he runs and runs, behind him, open doorways collapse into rubble, gutterways suddenly spew out oceanic waves, birds swoop at streetlights till the roads are covered with yellow bits of plastic and the sky vibrates with hallucinogenic neons reflecting sunlight- __, and glass cracks into spider webs and he passes a doorway from which suddenly erupts an entire Santa-Monica-sky worth of white clouds (and the blue sky is relieved to have finally found its sclera), a homeless man stands on the streetcorner dancing two hands in the air as he hops from foot to foot ranting about Armageddon, mumbling through toothless lips: we are all that's left! we two are all that's left! and he runs right past him and the homeless man breaks down crying (we are all?) and besides that his shopping trolley full of everyone's nothings is knocked over and plastic cans go scattered everywhere, and the wind rolls the along the empty streets and the mild scent of old beer attracts first the cats.

behind them the buildings crack at the hips, and fall down leaving a sky line of jagged acute angles soon to be overtaken by brown dust, and the white Santa Monica birds grow browned and the noise intimidates, and the grass (out of fear) exhales all at once, and the leaves and the flowers, and the wind pushes the grey dust another way, and a billboard falls

(and he runs)
and behind him homes scatter like bushfire flames,
(and all that was in them)