Saturday, May 7


you are too late.
To see our empty oceans
is to know the truth:
Everything here
is the last of its kind,
pure and unfixable.
We float,
but are barely seaworthy.
Lightning will strike us,
and we will burn.

We tried.
We sent our heroes out,
but our cheap hunger
overwhelmed us.
We ate their families.
Now they too are lost,
deadly and flailing.
Please don't tell them
it was us.
Here, have a coin.

We made machines
and machines to make machines.
Evil that can run itself
a thousand years,
no need to tend it.
Here, have a coin.

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