Genetically Incorrect

The clouds over Kamchatka
leave a poisonous snow
upon the land,
piled in drifts and
filling stream beds
with an icy crust,
radioactive.

The spiraled horn
of the rhinoceros
evolves to a rough skin
and two beady pink eyes.

Black market inoculations
thrived briefly in ’23
until all the takers
began to die
from the plague.

Carrion Earth offers
a full course dinner
with cloth napkins
and a server you
could die for.

And it was the rapture,
and even the faithless
could not deny it,
for the sky opened
and gathered up
the true believers
and all the rest
in a white hot flash
of glorious light.

Statistical analysis
sees future illusions
of absurdist vigor
proliferating with
pandemic abandon.

We’ve burnt
the furniture, the doors,
the books, the clothes.
There’s nothing left to burn.
The cold is intolerable.
It seeps into your bones
like an ice house chill.

The DNA helix can be
seen as a silver spring,
running free and
infested with vermin.

An abandoned tank
in the hills near Kabul,
perched askew on
the shifting dunes,
hatch wide open,
swallows the sand
of a thousand storms.

Appeared in my collection Surrealities