Thursday, June 4, 2015

Wet Saddle Ride

It's almost midnight,
Not completely dark
The lower end of the spectrum
Lingers across a cloudless summer sky.
Violets, blues, a streak of green
Stretch into the night
But they don't quite
Compensate my wet-saddle ride.
You wouldn't think the world was warming
From this one data-point
If Belgium was all we had,
A buffer against Napoleon, 
A pretend country, 
An amalgamation of Netherlands and France.
Data has a means of lying, 
Of confirming bias,
Emphasizing solipsism,
Like proclaiming your love
To a married woman.
Antarctic ice cores
Tell us we're on the verge
Of an unprecedented surge,
Anthropogenic climate change
Is spoiling a fate
Millennia in the making,
Temperatures have changed before,
But not at this rate.
"Coal is the future,"
Says the Prime Minister
At a rally in rural New South Wales,
And I tend to agree with him.
Burn those fossil fuels,
Suck your tit dry,
And while you're at it, 
Radio those SSBNs,
Unleash their ICBMs,
Blow this planet up
To kingdom fucking come
Who am I to care,
If we perish or survive?
It wouldn't make a difference,
It wouldn't be the first time.

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