Author Information
Ice Age Coming
"Take the money and run." - Radiohead
Frostbitten,
his briefcase is fast stuck
to our decaying street,
tentacles of ice bringing him down
to the frozen gutter.
No-one,
not one soul,
can stop the sun from setting.
Destitute,
adrift in information,
there is not even one among us
who can know what it takes
to heal a wound the size of a planet.
We're a butterfly caught
in a gravitational netting.
Yet,
like ants,
scurrying,
we make our laws,
do our studies,
patch what holes there are to be found,
weakly fight the facts.
Our very nature
is to destoy ourselves,
nature's vetting.
Always,
there is a prophet of doom around
when you need one,
desperately,
feverishly need his enobling, enabling glare,
his will.
We're all in a concentration camp of our own creating.
A statement of fact,
a final end,
a plunge into extinction,
a breath,
a new sunrise,
a melting,
the briefcase spills its archaic wisdom,
it's plans.
