By and | 31 January 2013

in two hundred and fifty thousand years
my sludge of waste might lose its poison
but nothing’s set in stone
except the joy and anguish of being here
with one week to practice what we believe
but can we sleep it off or at least die trying?
my sincere apology to mother earth
as glaciers melt around us
and wild winds rattle the lattice
and thunder claps the hell out of the world
and sheet lightning spears and spins the sky
now, with a mathematician’s belief I throw things around
and make this defunct world my theme song
though I know the theory of connection
between music and maths is a myth
I’ll continue singing against all odds,
I’ll cheat that physics and I’ll cheat nature
and keep a layer of lyrics between the world and myself
and convince my friends to come for dinner
despite the weather man’s threats to throw his things around –
to chuck the astrolabe, the vane, the compass, the spirit level,
out the window where he wants to lean to finger the breeze
or lick the air without having to answer to anybody
he said, keep me alive folks, please do,
it’s not my fault I simply make the forecasts
yet it is your own sin to believe them

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