As huge herds of our kind roam, rampage and ransack lands and seas,
growling storms roar
from the core to the air
our failure as a species,
while a few skim froth
atop refuse piling toward pitiless skies
in a final lurch toward the sullied glory
soon to transmorgrify
unwritten and sullen on the careless cosmos
that birthed us unwitting.
So this world ends, not in fire or ice,
but in wordless tears swollen with disease,
foregone and forgotten
sunken spaces we've been
into the cosmic dust
pulsing to our lust for meaning
What is gold?
the last visitor asks.
pathétique our parting arabesque.