How cold is the ice dangling at the end of malice?
I am a jeroboam of holiness, collecting snowflakes
Clouds throw down as if they were ninja stars.

The future is a steampunk adventure, complete
With Victorian period clothing and sensibilities.
The planet’s resources will boil. Earth is a crucible.

What will remain once all the salt is covered in blue flares?
How will pigs travel when they realize they can no longer fly?
I have been gathering sunlight for millennia; why am I not yet profuse?

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen