Humans yearn for a gush of sun to overtake the sky,
scraping and cracking us in red bloom,

or a cough of water to pour from an unseen throat
and slice through, like tangled hair.  

Nuclear warfare as vivid as second-grade sound effects,
every circle of hell that can climb into your mind,

maybe even a tattered zombie apocalypse.
It lacks class, but isn’t that the point?

Alas. We won’t get a dinosaur ending,
or a clashing of the gods.

Our insects and our imaginations grow smaller by the day,
and the meteors don’t like our kind of gravity anymore.

Instead, this blue marble will soup into itself.
The ice cubes will leak, and then skyscrape up again,

we drill up and down with our fingers
and the leaves will fall and eat forests in flames.

It leaves a membrane of smoke in the sky,
but don’t worry. I don’t. The world ends slowly.