Digging Through the Recycling Bin

Organisms of the ancient world

Strophied in their decay.

Living in their striated half-lives to become fodder

For our cars.


These half-lives suspended within darkness

Replete with nutrients of nothing and everything

Atoms denying physicality.  A mucus membrane worth killing over,

A landmass of surface tension and ill will.


Underneath the crust,

Tectonic shifts move, bulge through the ages,

The rings of trees count the generations.

We lose ourselves to fibrous bones puddling

Into amber gold, a lubricant

To whet our cogs, our pistons

Our engines that


Drive us forward.  Into hostility laced horizons,

Into sunsets brimming with toxicity.



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